Cry Human
by LovelyFangirls
Summary: Stiles, traumatized after being kidnapped a few years previous, is... changed. With a new house, a new job, and.. no new friends. Stiles tries to move on. However, familiar strangers, one night stands and the supernatural bring the past up again, this time with an uglier head. M for violence, some language, sex, possible triggers (kidnap, depression, anxiety) Hurt/comfort/Mystery
1. The Past is Now

**There are 13 kinds of Kitsune, celestial, Kawa, ocean and thunder.. but there is _one_. The dark Kitsune, the carnivore; Nogitsune. ****The Nogitsune draws it's power from pain and tragedy, strife and chaos. It exists, to cause suffering, and won't stop until it gets a taste of the bitter fruits of it's labor. Like an obsessive hunter, stalking its prey. **

* * *

Who better to draw from then little, skinny, defenseless, Stiles. He wasn't exactly the highest, or most important chain in the link, but what he lacked in brute strength he made up for in all the little things he did. He had somehow managed to be the only person who was interlinked with everyone. He wasn't what anyone would call important, but he was precious.

When the Nogitsune took over his mind, body and anything else he ever had, it was the perfect plan. For stiles, it was worse then just the mind games. It was like there was constantly something crawling beneath his skin, snaking its way up his arm and bulging out wherever it crept. It was painful, and hopeless.

"Have you figured out my riddle yet?"

Stiles kept himself balled up in the corner of a dark, and damp room. The cold floor make it hard to ignore how alone he was. The only way he could be sure that there was in fact, someone else in the room, was the echoing voice, whispering spine-chilling words into his ear.

"Everyone has it, but _no one_ can lose it. What is it?"

He inhaled a shaky breath. He wanted to wipe his nose. The room was cold, and his goose bumps were rough against his hands as he rubbed his arms, desperately trying to create heat. "You don't understand do you?" the voice cooed deeply, smothering his sanity bit by bit, "It's a riddle... Do you know any riddles Stiles?"

Stiles was fighting every urge to cry, to the point that he started to hold his breath, sharply exhaling through his nose when he couldn't hold it any longer. It made a sound that let the Nogitsune know how venerable he was. How truly broken down he was, not referring to his ankle, but to his mind. He just wanted to lie down and sleep through all of it, but his fear wouldn't let him. It kept his eyes open in the darkness, well aware he couldn't see two feet in front of himself. "I Don't Know!" he screamed to the shadows.

A decrepit voice chuckled against his cheek, making him flinch away. He clenched his jaw when he got his wits about him, knowing it was just more of their scheming. He cradled his head in his arms, drawing his knees up to his chest defensively. He cringed when his ankle make a crackling sound, sending jolt after jolt of pins-and-needle pain up his leg. Stile let out a pained cry, desperately demanding what to do, "What.. are you doing to me?"

"Making lunch."

It sounded like multiple voices now, circling his head even though there was a wall directly behind him. It started to dull a bit, that dark voice suddenly becoming soothing and familiar. "Stiles..." it spoke.

"No." he ordered, shaking his head as he rang shaky fingers through his hair, "No. You won't use him." his breathing got heavier as crying got harder to hold back, "Please. Just stop.."

His father's voice sounded so close to him, like he could reach out and grab onto him if he extended his arm. "Stiles... It's me."

"No. It's just a dream. This is all in my head.."

Something kicked his leg, knocking his broken ankle off balance, and sending more waves of pain up his body. He screamed desperately, half of him praying desperately for help, the other knowing perfectly well that none would come.


	2. Scruffy

It was five years, six physiatrists, and an addiction to chocolate peanut butter ice cream later. Stiles was different. He'd lost his closest friends after becoming a self inflicted mute for the better part of a year. The only person who really talked to him at all was Scott, an old high school friend, and those conversations always ended badly anyway. Stiles' dad decided a move would be best. He'd borrowed countless 'for dummies' and self help books from the library after that, and for a man who wasn't an avid reader, he raced through the pages quickly. The sheriff was determined to help his little boy.

Of course, he wasn't the sheriff anymore. He was just Mr. Stillinski. Even Stiles started referring to him like that. They'd moved to a bigger town, with more lit streetlights at night and neighborhoods where the houses were closer together and the mailboxes and trashcans shared the same space. Three, nearly four years in and Stiles still didn't have any new friends. He was out of school, and decided against college. He just didn't have the energy to provide any effort. His father however, gave him the choice between school and a job. He now worked at a little dinky ice cream shop downtown that would sing a jingle whenever you put a buck in the tip jar.

Mr. Stillinski became a police officer, carrying over from his previous occupation. He didn't like how constricted he felt in a cubical though. It wasn't much of a life, but it was a living, breathing partnership. Stiles would get home about an hour before his father, collect a spoon and the carton of chocolate peanut butter then flick on the TV. He never watched much of whatever played, but it was part of the routine.

When his dad got home, he'd fix dinner-which was never as good as the ice cream-and they'd sit down to a meal. Those were generally quiet. They never talked about the incident all those years ago, and Stiles still barely talked. Whenever the kidnapping became a topic, Stiles would visibly shudder. He'd start to sweat and make strange noises followed by his infamous panic attacks. Those had gotten much worse.

It wasn't much of a life. However, they were both breathing together. That counted for something... right?

* * *

It was another day in the dinky little downtown ice cream parlor. Stiles was entertaining himself by watching a couple flirt over a chunk of bubblegum flavored sorbet. The girl must have been half the man's age, and kept making these little high pitched giggles that made Stiles want to jam cotton balls down his ears. The bell jingled over the door and another couple stepped inside. Two couples in the shop almost beat the record. Which was three. Stiles made a day of these things.

"So many choices..." the girl grinned, folding her arms and squinting her eyes towards the flavors list.

The man at her side was tall, and a bit rough looking. He was handsome, Stiles would give him that, but he seemed very unapproachable. His stubble was perfectly framing his jaw, and the way he stood with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket was appealing. Tall dark and furry gave a little grunt to the girl at his side before mumbling out his own order, "Chocolate peanut butter."

Go figure.

The girl was indecisive and a little annoying, pausing her menu browsing every few seconds to giggle and grin at the man or ask him a question. Stiles thought the dude's perfectly good ice cream would die a horrid, melting death before she even considered something. He technically wasn't supposed to, but he handed the man his ice cream over the counter with a look of pity. The man smiled and nodded, his scruff making the smile _known. _Stiles decided to call this guy scruffy.

"Can I try a couple flavors?" The woman asked expectantly, taking a moment to flip her hair. Literally flip the stupid thing.

Stiles nodded slowly, but kept his mouth shut and lips tight. That seemed to draw Scruffy's attention as he looked up from his half eaten helping of heaven. The girl did that annoying little head shake and shoulder lift that looks like a combination of sassy, cocky, subjective, and frankly; rude, "Well?"

Stiles nodded a little quicker and wider, but really didn't want to use his words if he didn't have to. His voice already felt dry and he just knew if he tried to speak it would come out all cracked and high pitched. He didn't do well with people anymore. He used to be able to talk a mile a minute.

She girl looked about ready to glare before Scruffy rolled his eyes, "Just pick already. I'd rather not have to eat ice cream soup."

Stiles smirked a little. Scruffy was pretty witty. With a frustrated huff, the girl poked her finger against the glass that separated customers from the ice cream and called out the names of a couple flavors as Stiles got some tiny spoons for her to taste them. After trying Bubblegum, Lemon tart, Raspberry _and_ Strawberry Burst, she decided on plain Vanilla. Stiles was a little annoyed.

The couple he'd been watching before had already left by the time Scruffy got to the counter to pay. The bitch took away his only source of entertainment. "Sorry about that." Scruffy apologized as he pulled a wallet from the back of his jeans, "Gwen's pretty indecisive."

Stiles thought for an awkward moment, fishing around for a good reply. He finally smiled plastically, raising a hand in a ''no worries'' kind of way. Scruffy grinned before placing a bill down on the counter, obviously more then he needed to pay. Stiles started to make change, but Scruffy mimicked his hand signs and told him to, "Keep it." before turning back to the girl who waited by the door with her Vanilla ice cream and an annoyed expression.

What a bitch.

Scruffy nodded his head with respect before following her out the door. The shop was empty now, and Stiles was bored again. He scooped himself a Chocolate Peanut butter before settling down onto a stool that sat behind the counter. He took a satisfied bite of his ice cream before shutting his eyes and humming some tune that got stuck in his head when someone came in earlier whistling it. Just another day.

* * *

Scruffy came back in a couple days later with a different girl. This one was blonde, and seemed to have an affinity for leopard print. To be honest, she sort of resembled a hooker. Stiles didn't expect to get recognized, he was a wallflower after all, but Scruffy seemed more stand-offish this time around. It wasn't as if there was anyone around him to have an intelligent conversation with, Stiles was quiet and the girl really didn't look like she could hold an interesting topic for long, but he was very reserved that day.

No offence to her, but... she asked which ice cream smelled the best. Then asked Scruffy if she would smell like the ice cream she chose after she ate it. He wasn't being stereotypical, but this was one of those girls that just makes other blondes look bad.

"Chocolate Peanut butter." Scruffy muttered, "Double scoop."

Stiles nodded and scooped it into a dish before handing it over the counter. He didn't have a doubt that 'smells' would take as much time as the girl he was with before. He liked nicknaming people, it helped keep strangers in a line when he thought things over in his head, "You should get the strawberry one."

The blonde turned a little to smile at him, "I do like the smell of strawberries... and it will match my lip gloss color!"

Stiles frowned. What? The strawberry flavored ice cream would match the color of her lip gloss. Who knew! Maybe she really would smell like strawberries later. She looked liable to drop a rainbow out of her leopard print anytime now. Just explode into a fireworks show of sparkles and cotton candy.

Scruffy came back again with another girl later in the week.

Then two more times with a few more different girls.

Again and Again he came back, each time with a different girl and something just a little different about the way he carried himself. Stiles liked observing this giggalo, and fell into a habit of preparing a Chocolate Peanut butter double scoop whenever he was Scruffy walk through the door. It took almost two week for one of the girls to actually say his name, "But Derek! I want a lot of ice cream! I can't just pick one flavor!"

Derek seemed like a very fitting name, but Stiles still applauded himself for choosing a name like Scruffy, and decided he liked that better.


	3. Panic Attack

Stiles always liked to assume he looked normal. He still had a very nervous system. He'd jolt violently during one of those typical movie 'cat in the trash can' moments. Little things scared him in a big way, and it was hard to ignore much of anything. That must have been part of the reason why he liked observing so much.

It was three in the morning, work was at six. Stiles knew he needed rest, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't force himself to go back to sleep. He'd woken up suddenly with a flashback of his kidnapping. In his mind, it was far worse then real life. He'd skewed a few details. His brain had replaced the kidnapper's face with a bandaged mask. There were dark, rotting fangs from beneath the cloth, and the way he carried himself was terrifying on its own.

Stiles rubbed his ankle soothingly. It had healed well enough, but he still remembered being a gimp for the longest time. His memories of that night were vague, and the doctors diagnosed him with a concussion that took away many memories. That was another thing that contributed to the loss of his friends from before. He remembered their pained looks when he couldn't remember half of them. It wasn't his fault, and he really did want to remember.

Moving had been a good idea.

Stiles clung to the blanket tighter as he forced his eyes shut. He needed to get some rest. The nightmares came and go but the next night would only be worse if he didn't at least power nap. Chocolate Peanut butter sounded good right about then. The ice cream was a weird relaxer for Stiles. There were gallons of it in the house just for him thanks to his dad. They didn't talk much, but when they did, it usually had to do with Stiles being in need of some more.

The little alarm clock stationed by his bed clicked over to four. Great. He tried to keep his mind on pleasant things, hoping to sleep a little more. The kidnapper just kept pounding against his brain, spouting decrepit sounding words that made him shiver.

_"What are you doing to me?"_

_"Making lunch." _

Eyes snapped awake to the sound of an annoying buzz of the alarm clock. He had work. With a bit of sluggish fatigue, Stiles slipped into his pale blue work shirt. The color sort of reminded him of the cotton candy flavor they only served on special occasions. It was comfortable too.

Work started slow. The seasons had melted into that little bridge between the end of fall and the beginning of winter. Slush was on the ground, the air was cold enough to nip your nose but not to freeze a pool. Leaves were still disintegrating underfoot, and Stiles started his shift by raking away some of the strays that blew into their font sidewalk. The sound of a cheap plastic rake scraping against the sidewalk was irritating, if not insufferable. Technically his colleague, Jane, should have been doing this. She was always late. Stiles only gave her the leeway he did because she was nice and worked hard. Jane was one of those girls who lived in a house filled with problems.

She was about a year behind Stiles, but worked two jobs and babysat on Sundays. Her father was a drunk and her mother spent her days wallowing in self pity after shoving their three other toddlers off to school. Jane liked to talk. A lot. That was the main reason he knew all of this. They weren't exactly 'friends', but they talked. Well, Jane talked. Stiles just listened intently as she went on and on about a great sale or an annoying customer.

Stiles had just packed away the rake when he heard the little bell above the door give out a familiar little jingle, causing him to poke his head out from the back room. Jane was discarding her layers hurriedly. She was also a little out of breath, "Sorry I'm late!" she sang, "There was an accident somewhere on Route 52 and I had to take a back road. Then my mother called asking where the kids were. I dropped them off this morning because I couldn't wake her up."

She just kept rambling like that, as she did most days. Stiles didn't mind though. In a way, she kind of reminded him of how he was... before the kidnapping.

"Anyway, I'm late, but I promise I'll make it up to you! You can add some extra time to your break if you want. I won't say a thing." She smiled, finally slipping the neck of her colored apron over her head, "Anyone come in yet?"

Stiles shook his head. She was only half an hour late. They were never that busy this time of year. Jane smiled brightly, the dimples in her cheeks peeking their way out cutely. Jane had hair that hung down just past her shoulders. The tips were curly, but not because she wanted them to be. She had that little bit of natural waviness that really shaped her slender face. She was _very _thin in fact. Like, anorexia thin. The freckles kept her skin color looking fairly normal, but when you really looked behind them, you could tell she was pale. It most likely had to do with her lifestyle, but Stiles never really asked.

Stiles never really asked much of anything these days.

Jane went about checking if everything was in order, not really bothering to ask Stiles if he'd already done it, which he had. There was a song playing over the radio that made her face light up, "I love this song!" she grinned, swaying around a little bit with the tempo before she started to sing along, "Just a small town girl~"

Oh. This song. Great.

"Livin' in a LONELY WORLD!~"

Jane really got into it, grabbing an ice cream scooper off the counter and raising it to her mouth as she continued to sing. Her knees tucked as she dropped to the floor, swinging her arms out in a dramatic pose, "Don't Stop! Believing!~"

Stiles couldn't help it. She just looked so ridiculous like that. He giggled, then chuckled, until her song was about halfway through and he was laughing and smiling brightly. "I had no idea you could smile like that Stiles!" Jane beamed, rising from her kneeling position on the ground.

"Neither did I." came a deep, rough voice from the other side of the counter.

Stiles jumped visibly, both shaken and appalled with himself for not noticing the man walk in. He should have heard the door bell jingle. How had he not noticed? He noticed _everything_. He made it his job to do that. That way no one could ever sneak up on him again. Jane greeted scruffy with a polite, customer to client type of smile, "Afraid you caught me with my pants down." she chuckled.

Stiles was concerned. He had lost his sharp senses for a moment laughing with Jane. He wouldn't make that mistake again. What if that had been the kidnapper? Back again for round two? What if he'd been taken? All because he had been to busy laughing to pay attention. Stiles felt sick. He lost his footing for a moment and fell back onto the stool that sat behind the counter.

"Stiles? Are you alright?" Jane asked, concerned, "You look pale.."

"Stiles?" Scruffy echoed, making the boy look up with dizzy eyes.

"My name..." he mumbled.

His eyes suddenly became very heavy and his back hurt. He felt sore and wanted to vomit. Uncontrollable shaking started and Stiles knew what was happening. It was very familiar. He had only ever had panic attacks at home, save for a couple ones in public. He'd been with his dad those times though. The thought of no one being able to calm him down only made it worse.

"Stiles!" Scruffy cried, leaping, literally _leaping_ over the counter and rushing up past Jane.

He blacked out after that point. Someone grabbed hold of him though, just before he went under. Whoever it was, held him just like his dad did.


	4. Derek, AKA Scruffy

The room Stiles was in was pitch black. The air felt cold and wet, and smelled of mold mixed with old wood. The atmosphere alone made his stomach churn. He tried to see what was around him, but he could barely see his own hands in front of his face. He started to breathe a little heavier, waving his arms around in front of himself, hoping for a door, or a wall even. Anything to help him gain some sort of bearings would be amazing.

Just as Stiles felt his hands finally come into contact with cold wall, a mocking laugh resonated from behind him. He spun around so suddenly he almost lost his footing, trying to face whoever was there, "H-hello!?"

That same, brooding laugh echoed into his left ear, so he turned again. His arm was caught before he could even try to take a swing in front of him. His eyes had become a little more adjusted. He could she some shadowed silhouettes around the room, as well as the dark figure in front of him. The grip on his wrist tightened and burned, making him wince. "Who are you!?" Stiles practically screamed.

The stranger just laughed yet again, pulling Stiles closer by his arm. There was a dreadful stink of breath coming through his nostril now. What did this creep eat? Dead rats and rotten fish? It was enough to make his gut twist as his stomach threatened to force out its contents. Stiles was terrified when he realized the stranger was breathing over his face, "Stiles..."

Cringing, Stiles tried to pull free once more, "Let go of me! Who the hell are you!?"

"Stiles."

"Let go of me!"

"Stiles!"

Stiles snapped back to reality with a sudden jerk. He was in the ice cream shop. Sprawled out on the floor and his head in someone's lap, Stiles could see Jane's worried expression as she sat beside him, "Stiles! Oh thank God. Are you alright? You had a seizure! I called 911 but-"

"I already told you that it wasn't a seizure! You shouldn't have called!" The lap against his head shifted weirdly as the man who held him spoke.

Stiles managed to look up. Scruffy was glaring at Jane as they argued what had managed to knock him out. Of course, they wouldn't have known it was a panic attack. He didn't blame them for that either. Stiles had never told Jane that he had them, but could anyone really blame him for that? Alright, they probably could.

"Look sir," Jane replied sternly, "I already told you that I don't know you. This is a staff matter and I _still _think you should leave."

"I'm not going anywhere." he growled in reply, "Obviously you don't know what you're doing."

Stiles frowned. That line sounded oddly familiar with that voice, it sounded... right even. He squinted his eyes a little as he studied the face of this man. The gigolo who always brought countless women in and ordered the same ice cream that Stiles loved. The man was a mystery. Hadn't one of the girls said his name before? What was it again? Darren?

Jane stood from where she had been kneeling beside Stiles, reaching down to help him up as she kept keen and vicious eyes on the man, "I have this under control thank you very much."

"You thought it was a seizure!" Scruffy growled.

"It was!" she retorted, Stiles being almost firmly planted on his feet once again.

"I'm telling you it wasn't!"

"Then what exactly was it genius?"

Scruffy opened his mouth to speak, but paused suddenly when he noticed Stiles' eyes on him. It made Stiles even more curious as he adverted his gaze. "Whatever."

Stiles thought hard, leaving a concentrated expression on his face. He wanted to ask who this man was. He'd called Stiles by name before he'd blacked out... and the way he'd held Stiles. It was like his dad used to hold him during his attacks in Beacon Hills. He remembered those. His body would thrash around violently and his muscles would tense up with uncontrollable spasms. It required a tight grip like Scruffy had.

The attacks had changed since the move. His depression mixed with the anxiety that triggered them, and his body just wasn't strong enough to lash out like it used to. Which was something depressing in itself. He was literally too sad to have normal panic attacks. Someone upstairs must hate him.

Scruffy let out a heavy breath as the atmosphere in the room relaxed a little more. He shoved clenched fists into the pockets of his coat, looking ready to leave. Stiles still needed to ask who he was! His lips parted a little, getting ready to form words. His throat went dry again. It was hard to speak on a good day. He was under pressure now and it just made his throat hurt more. Stiles felt his eyes water a little when the man started to turn, ready to leave with Jane's obvious approval.

"W-"

It wasn't a full word... but it sent out the message Stiles wanted to get across. Scruffy shifted back a little, looking directly at him. "Who-" Stiles tried again, his brow furrowing with concentration and his eyes watering a little as he tries to tough out the sharp scratch in his throat.

"Stiles?" Jane questioned, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Who.. are-"

"Easy." Scruffy replied, raising a hand as he started coming back to Stiles, "You obviously don't talk much. You'll hurt your throat."

Jane scoffed, "Seriously, what the hell are you?"

Glaring, the man drew back a little, his dark eyes narrowing with irritation, "Derek. My name's Derek."

The name poked at Stiles' brain. It sounded familiar, but at the same time, it really didn't. It might have just been a name he'd heard around or read online at one point or another. Could even have been one of those names they print on the side of a cola can. Things like that happened. It didn't mean he knew the guy.

More questioned buzzed through Stiles' head as Derek introduced himself to Jane awkwardly. There was a lot of bite in their words. They really didn't seem to like each other. Stiles rubbed his neck in attempt to soothe some of the pain that made his throat sting. Derek seemed to notice, offering to find him some water or anything to drink. The thought was nice. Stiles nodded lightly after giving it a little consideration. It was okay socially for that kind of thing right?

Jane's hand had dropped form his shoulders as she smiled to him, "I'll call 911 again and tell them it's all okay, but then I'd better get back to the counter. It's not a busy day, but we're still open. If you need me, don't hesitate to come get me alright?"

Stiles smiled and nodded once more. Jane's assuring grin morphed into a bit of a glare as she turned her head to Derek, "Touch him and I'll cut you."

"Understood." he replied.

Jane gave Stiles one last look of worry before disappearing on the other side of the door. The back room wasn't huge, but it had enough space for a couple people to move around. The walls were lined with shelves full of toppings, cones, unopened bags of spoons and bowls, and some cardboard boxes Stiles had never really investigated. There was a solitary table with a few chairs littered around it, which Stiles decided to stare at once he noticed a pair of wolfish eyes observing him.

The voice changed a bit. Scruffy's usual hard and rough turned into a soft reassuring, damn near seductive purr, "You still want that drink?"


	5. Out for a Drink

When he'd been offered a drink, Stiles had assumed.. soda or something, which was becoming more and more of a ridiculous idea the more he thought on it. Who goes out for a _soda_? That was how he found himself sitting in a bar in the middle of the day with a man who was still technically a stranger. He knew the guy's name sure, but he was strange. Derek had continually brought girl after girl into the ice cream parlor, but never took any of them back a second time. That was the extent of his knowledge. For all Stiles knew, this dude could be a rapist of some sort.

That was probably a ridiculous thought too though. What kind of rapist would bring his women out in public? Or to an ice cream shop even. He watched carefully as Derek ordered himself a drink, turning to Stiles afterword and asking if he wanted anything. It would have been rude to refuse, since he had bothered to take Stiles all the way out _for a drink_; obviously alcohol. So, he settled for a rum and coke. He could take that much. Stiles wasn't exactly an avid drinker.

"Rum and coke." Derek repeated, raising a few fingers to the bartender.

The bar wasn't the Ritz, but it wasn't a half bad place either. Stiles assumed the empty dance floor was more crowded in the night, when the florescent lights would be a little brighter and the smell of old men and cigarettes would be a little less evident; overtaken by hormonal teenagers grinding on one another. Derek had started talking, but Stiles was having trouble keeping his attention on him and not the scary looking man that sat a couple bar stools away; staring at Stiles and Derek with a sinister leer. It made him very uncomfortable... and nervous.

But everything made Stiles nervous.

"Stiles?" Derek repeated, finally deciding by this third time to lift a hand to Stiles' arm, making the boy flinch, "You zoned out."

"Y-yeah.." was all Stiles managed to reply before choking up and sealing his lips tight.

He would have loved to apologize to Derek, but he'd spoken more already today than he had in a while. Derek seemed to be waiting for more of a response, but the bartender saved Stiles, coming to the rescue with their drinks and a bowl of peanuts. "So, do you get these attacks often?" Derek questioned before raising his drink to his lips.

Stiles almost choked on his peanut. He managed to cough it out and took a big mouthful of his (not coke) to try and wash away the scratchy sensation that comes after a coughing fit. Of course, the rum didn't exactly help, just burned his throat in an unpleasant way. Stiles squinted his eyes shut to keep them from watering before nodding in response to Derek's question.

"You alright?"

Another nod. He'd just swallowed a big gulp of alcohol and carbonation, no big deal.

The scowl Derek offered his drink did not go unnoticed, "You don't talk much, do you?"

Stiles let his eyes open a little more now that the stinging feeling was leaving his eyes. He shook his head lightly before spinning a couple degrees on his bar stool. Those were always fun. Stiles liked the feeling of being able to spin around in circles like that, it was kind of relaxing. Of course, he could act like some weirdo in a public bar. "You're wandering off again." Derek frowned, "Do that often too?"

Stiles smiled shyly. It was a bad habit.

Derek's grin was bright, and pleasant to look at. It was one of those grins that had a little tooth to it; white, shiny teeth that would put Ken and Barbie to shame. That lovely smile faded the moment Derek noticed Stiles staring. They talked for a few minutes after that, Derek doing most of the talking and Stiles doing most of the listening and nodding. It was still a nice conversation though. Stiles hadn't really had one like it in a while. Most people, once they found out Stiles didn't talk, would either ignore him or just ramble to themselves basically. Derek however, was making sure to get Stiles answers and input.

He seemed genuinely interested in whatever Stiles had to say. Stiles found out that Derek had only recently moved into the area, lived alone in "A piece of crap with four walls", and that the bar they were in was his favorite place to drink. A lot. Derek had confessed to having a weakness for the bottle, but why he drank so much Stiles didn't get to find out. He didn't ask though, things like that were generally personal.

Polishing off the last of his rum and coke gave Stiles a little more courage, and numbed his dry throat, "Thank you." he mumbled, looking down into his, now empty, cup.

Derek smiled again, "For what?"

"Helping, buying me a drink."

"It's fine." Derek replied, shooting down what had to be his third or fourth shot of straight vodka. An audiable cringe came out of his mouth and showed all over his face. Why did he drink it if he didn't like it? Or maybe it burned like the rum did. "I'm just glad you're okay. You're even talking."

Stiles chuckled, "It's the rum."

"You're not that drunk." Derek grinned in reply, "It's all you."

"The rum helps."

Wrangling the bartender back for another shot, Derek smiled a wolfish grin. It might have been the pleasant buzz from his drink, but Stiles felt a little more comfortable, less stressed. Scruffy took in his next shot before turning back to Stiles and speaking with a slight slur, "I'm... jus' glad you're okay."

"You're the drunk one."

"Not drunk. I have a good tolerance. Jus' relieved."

Stiles frowned into the bottom of this glass, "You talk like we're old friends or something."

He'd said it jokingly, but the way Derek's face skewed was stomach wrenching. Did he know Derek before hand? He would have remembered someone like him surely. They were strangers right? Stiles hadn't met him before the ice cream shop. So... why did Derek look so hurt by his words?

"Yeah.." Derek muttered, waving for yet another shot of vodka.

"You're not going to be able to drive home." Stiles warned, trying to let the bartender know they were done.

Derek groaned defensively, "I's fine. I can drink sum more."

"Are you an alcoholic or something? You've had plenty."

"I wanna drink some more!" Derek barked, slamming a fist down on the counter.

At this point, the bartender stepped in, "I think your friend is right buddy, you've had enough. You're starting to bother people."

"I'm the one that's bothered!" he retorted, glaring up at the man with irritation and dangerous warning, "Whatever. Le's go Stiles."

Derek stood angrily and headed for the door, leaving Stiles to nod apologetically to the bartender and rush after him. They were out in the middle of town, and now he was nervous. There was no way he was going to get into a car with a drunk driver, but he had no intention of walking home alone... in the middle of town... where no one pays attention to anyone... he could get kidnapped again and no one would even notice. He could be forced into an alley way and- His thoughts were interrupted when Derek slammed into the car.

"Are- are you okay?" He managed, getting a little choked again.

"I'm fine Dammit!" Derek barked, glaring at the car as he tried to shove the key into the lock, failing several times before slamming an angry fist against the door.

Stiles jumped, frightened. Derek was a scary drunk apparently. Why had he been drinking so much anyway? He should.. help the man right? "You want me to call a cab for you? You shouldn't be driving home."

Rough, calloused and slightly shaky hands raked over Derek's stubble as he shook his head, "I'm fine. It's just-" a heavy sigh escaped his lips before he turned his head to Stiles, offering him a sad smile, "It's just harder than I thought it would be." he shoved the keys back into his pocket before spinning on his heel, "I'll walk home. Don't worry."

"I'll call a cab... really." Stiles repeated, taking a hesitant step forward, "I.. I gotta call one for myself too. We-we could share maybe? I-umm." he stuttered, secretly hoping Derek would accept. The guy was a strange man, but he was familiar and Stiles didn't want to be alone with strangers. Besides, Jane knew Derek was the last one with him if something _did _happen. He had a backup plan.

Derek let out a defeated puff of air before nodding, "Got it. Don't be scared, I'll get you home."

Stiles stood shocked as Derek brought out his phone to dial. He could read Stiles like an open book; always knowing what he was really thinking. Who..?

Who the hell was this guy?


	6. Hangovers and Bloody Wounds

Stiles woke up with a headache, and his alarm clock had achieved grade A douchuebaggery because of it. While it wasn't exactly a full 'hangover headache', it was bad enough to make him chuck that stupid alarm clock against the wall with malice. He had work, but Stiles didn't want to go. Jane would bombard him with questions that he didn't want to answer, and not just because his throat hurt whenever he tried to talk to her. It would be awkward. Stiles really didn't like talking about his personal life that much.. it surprised him that he'd been so vocal with Derek; for which he blamed the alcohol.

With an irritated huff, Stiles forced himself to roll off the bed.

He had bed head, and his shirt was buttoned wrong; the buttons pushed in one hole too far up. When he finally slugged through the doors of the ice cream parlor, Jane was in hysterics. Of course she was in on time that day of all days, the day she had a real _reason_ to come in.

"Stiles!" She shrieked, practically jumping over the counter to grab him up in a hug. "Are you okay? I was worried."

Her voice was loud, and it made his headache hurt worse. He raised a hand to try and soothe the pain but nodded to answer her question. As predicted, Jane spouted question after question, begging to hear all about the night and whether or not the 'creep' had taken his 'innocence'. He didn't really want to spoil her fantasy, but Stiles wasn't a virgin. Well, he couldn't prove that, but he'd had a boyfriend when he lived in Beacon Hills. That was one of the things everyone seemed to ask him about when they fired off interrogative questions that seemed to have only one answer. He always replied with no.

_"Do you remember having a boyfriend? Girlfriend?" _

_"Do you remember me?" _

_"What about her?"_

Always answered with a shake of the head. The pained faces and plastic smiles they gave him in reply made his stomach twist with guilt every time. Beacon Hills was really just a place full of forgotten memories.

"Stiles? Are you listening?" Jane huffed, a little irritated. "I was asking about whether or not you want to just go home today."

Stiles offered her a blank stare.

"I-I mean, you always cover for me. I know you had a bad day yesterday and everything, so this would be kinda like my repayment." she blubbered, trying to find her words as a brush of pink found its way to her cheeks. "Or... something. You know."

Stiles smiled with fondness. Jane was loud, tardy, and talked a mile a minute, but she was caring. Overall, a good person and probably someone he could depend on for a shoulder to cry on. He held an arm out for a hug, not surprised when she dove into it with a wide grin. "I'm glad you're okay." she muttered into his neck.

There was a jingle at the front door as a customer entered and the two tore apart as Jane pulled her winning smile.

"Hi, what can I get for you today?"

* * *

Stiles wasn't necessarily disappointed that Derek hadn't shown up all day. It wasn't as if the man had made a commitment to do so, Stiles had just grown accustomed to him popping in. He wasn't expecting him to come, but it would have been nice.

Jane wanted to walk him home, and he would have been glad for the company on any other day, but his spirits were down. It would either end in awkward silence, or Stiles looking gloomy and bored while she talked her lips off. Either way, he couldn't see himself summoning any energy to talk, and it wouldn't be fair to her. With a polite, plastic smile, he thanked her and shook his head.

Jane shrugged into her coat and hung the pink and blue apron over a hook by the back door, "You'll lock up then?" she questioned, obviously looking for something to say before finally leaving. "I can always stay until you go home." she offered.

Shaking his head once again, Stiles shooed her. She had to get home anyway, Stiles remembered her coming in one morning with deep bags under her eyes after her mother threw a fit. Jane was in charge of babysitting the little ones at home, but working to support them _and_ their lazy mother had kept her over. Stiles smiled fondly before looking back to the door Jane had exited just moments before. She was a good, hardworking girl. Probably worked _too_ hard for her own good.

Stiles turned, ready to hang up his apron when the familiar bell over the door jingled.

"So.." a long, dry breath huffed out, "You're still... here..."

Spinning around, Stiles recognized scruffy-_Derek_ panting and clutching the side of his torso. Stiles bumped into the counter painfully trying to get around it. "What happened?!" He nearly screamed, absent of thought as he say the red staining Derek's white-knuckled hand.

"Long... Story..." he huffed, limping with Stiles' help into a chair.

The thick blood dripped from between Derek's fingers as he tried to keep pressure on whatever wound remained hidden beneath his palm. "Let me look at it!" Stiles ordered, swatting at the hand for the umpteenth time. "Derek!"

At the sound of his name, the man seemed to tense. He stared at stiles with a look of contemplation before nodding his head slowly, hesitantly releasing his side with a strained grunt. "It... it probably looks worse than it really is." he assured.

Stiles was trying not to freak out. What happened? Was Derek in trouble? Had he started it? Was it an accident? Self inflicted? Was it infected? Did he need to go to a hospital? What if it was fatal or hit an organ? What if-

"Stiles." Derek growled, breaking him from thought. "Calm down. You're shaking." he huffed, putting his bloody hand back over the wound so Stiles wouldn't have to hold it. "I'm fine. Don't want you having another attack."

Stiles retreated to see if he could find something to work with. There was supposed to be first aid kits installed in work settings right? As he was searching the back room, Stiles found himself thinking. Derek had managed to predict his attacks twice now, and stopped them before they were even happening. The only other person that had ever done that for him was his father... and it was a rare occasion. Stiles' panic attacks were random and set off by the littlest of things. They were nearly impossible to anticipate. However, Derek had done it twice.

Finally, Stiles stumbled over a first aid kit tucked behind the bathroom sink. He pulled it out form behind the sink's pipe and eagerly rushed back to the injured man in the front. Derek wasn't groaning anymore, but he was glistening with sweat and trying to keep pressure on the gouge in his hip. He'd taken his jacket off, and the hem of his t-shirt had been pulled up a few inches to make way for Stiles' help. The initial sight of an open, bloody wound made Stiles incredibly nervous, but he tried to work quickly, shaking hands fussing with the bandages. "Calm down." Derek repeated, "Breathe with me."

Stiles followed in time with the deep breaths the man took, soon residing to a point where he could wrap Derek's wound with stable hands. There was something so natural about this, as if he'd done it a thousand times before. It felt natural; clipping the bandage together while using Derek's deep breaths to stay tamed and away from panic attacks. It was surreal. "T-there..." Stiles huffed with relief.

He was done. "You..." he choked a little on the sentence, "You'll need a doctor."

"You were always good enough." Derek muttered in reply, standing to pull his jacket on, "I don't need any doctor."

"M-My sewing was terrible!" Stiles offered, tying to convince him.

"I'll be fine."

"What happened? Who are you? What did you mean, "I was always good enough!?" Stiles thought he was going to hyperventilate, but he had a lot to say.

Derek raised a hand, "Take a breath. I'll explain."

"Are you..." Stiles took a moment to cough out the words, but his curiosity was overruling his shy speech. He needed to know, "Are you... Dangerous?"

With a cheeky grin, Derek replied casually, "Deadly."


	7. Forget Me Not

**Alright, time for the diaper babies to skip a chapter, there will be smut. A LOT of it. Like, seriously nearly this entire chapter is just smut. You thought you were going to get an explanation in this chapter? Well, we're getting closer, but something big mayyyy be happening below. Who knows. :P Also thank you all so much for the support on this story. It means so much to me. Remember, reviews are love! (TuT)**

**Also, there was a tiny little thing that got cut out of the chapter when I uploaded it the first time, it's been fixed and re-inserted. Sorry about that.**

* * *

How it happened, was a mystery. To be honest though, it didn't really matter. All that mattered at the moment was the _feeling_. The rush of someone else's air flowing through your lungs as you try to breathe within a sloppy, desperate kiss. The kind of kissing that would leave your cheeks scratched and red from stubble, lips puffy and red from the roughness of it all. It was indeed, rough. Rough and fast. The feeling that either one's patience could snap like elastic that's been stretched to it's limit.

Stiles felt his knees hit the back of his bed as Derek guided him closer and closer to that moment when he'd break down and become needy. Muscular arms grabbed the backs of his thighs, lifting Stiles off the ground and forcing him to try and lock ankles behind Derek's torso. Those pesky limbs however, wouldn't work with him. He slipped and fell back onto the bed with a noisy creak of the mattress. Stiles' thighs were hot and burned where Derek had tried to hold him up, no doubt where there were going to be suspicious hand marks later. They could accompany the trail of countless hickeys that littered his neck.

Stubble started to scratch his cheeks once again, Derek towering over him with royalties and demanding arms that grabbed at him, plunging a desperate tongue into his mouth as he took position between the boy's legs. Stiles took the opportunity to catch his breath as Derek sat back on his heels, pulling off his shirt to reveal the bandaged, sweaty, muscular torso beneath. They weren't going to open anything again were they?

Derek came back down slowly, the two of them panting as the hormones drowning the pair seemed to sponge out, just a little. They could breathe now at least. "Are..." Stiles huffed, "Are your wounds... going to be okay?"

"I'm fine." Derek replied, snaking a hand between Stiles' back and the mattress as his head dipped down to the boy's chest.

He pulled Stiles' body up into his mouth as Derek ghosted hot breath over a nipple, sparking sensations in Stiles that he didn't know he was capable of having. When his mouth finally clamped down over the bud, Stiles couldn't control the small whimper that escaped his mouth. The nerves twisted in his body, forcing his hips to involuntarily roll upwards like a wanton teenager. His legs were weak and lubed with fresh sweat that gathered in the juncture beneath his knees. Hands desperate to find something for stability, head tossing back to open his airways as they gasped for some sort of sound to make. What came out was a strangled plea. Stiles felt teeth lightly graze his nipple, but only enough for him to spasm a little as the feeling electrified a new twist of nerves through his chest. It was impossibly erotic.

"I-if you don't do something else soon..." Stiles panted, barely able to breathe out the words, "I'll cum before we do anything."

Derek let his lips wrap around his teeth as he chomped lightly over the pink bud, the flesh softening the bite. Stiles whined as his hips began to roll again without his permission. Rough hands clamped over them as Derek stilled the movement beneath him and began to kiss a trail down Stiles' torso. He worked on kissing, licking, and sucking hickeys into the boy's hips as fingers fumbled with the zipper of his jeans, slipping both them and the boxers underneath off with one fell swoop. The boxers however, got lost in the pull down, catching over Stiles' knees rather annoyingly. Frustrated, Derek pulled on the offending clothes a little too hard, and dragged Stiles down the bed a couple inches. He had to try not to grin devilishly when Stiles gripped at his shoulders in a moment of vulnerability, just looking for something to keep himself steady on the bed.

When Stiles tried to recoil his arms, face bright red, Derek caught him and brought them up further so they wrapped around his neck. With a look of devious undertone, he dipped for another long, wet, kiss that dragged out a trail of saliva when they parted. "Do you have any lube?" Derek questioned, voice rough and deep.

"N-No..." Stiles gushed, shaking his head fiercely. He didn't really make a habit out of sex. He'd had urges before, but anybody with a penis and twelve years to discover boobs would say the same thing. "I-I don't."

"You're gonna have to work with me then." Derek bargained, dragging a couple fingers up to the boy's mouth, "Suck." he ordered.

Bright red, Stiles took them into his mouth, trying his best to be helpful even though his embarrassment was overwhelming. Derek had eyes trained on Stiles, watching intently as he held Derek by the wrist, practically drooling over his fingers with shut eyes and demanding moans. When he noticed the boy's growing embarrassment, he resorted to biting marks into Stiles' side. Before the night was over, Stiles would be covered.

The first finger was intrusive and sharp. Stiles instinctively tried to scoot up the bed and way from the invasion, but Derek help him still, planting soft, assuring kisses under his jaw to offer some sort of distraction, "It'll get better." came a soft, assuring voice in the boy's ear.

For Derek, this was a replay of things they'd done a handful of times before. It hurt him that Stiles didn't remember him like he remembered Stiles. The special spots that made him twitch, or the way he would always bite on a knuckle when he became eager. The things he would never forget. For Derek, this was treasured, but for Stiles it was brand new. He took it slow and tried to remain calm as years and years of missing Stiles built up and tried to claw out of his system; to break free.

Saliva wasn't a permanent fix, but it loosened Stiles enough for his body to get the idea and create some natural lube. By the time Derek was circling with a third finger, Stiles had lost most of his uncomfortableness. Derek held back his smirk when Stiles chewed on his knuckle. He removed his fingers and started to peck more comforting kisses along his shoulder, getting into position before Stiles had the chance to get nervous and clam up.

Pushing in as slowly as possible, Derek held onto Stiles' thigh with one hand, the other planted firmly on the bed beside Stiles' head, keeping Derek propped up. God he'd missed this. Stiles started to claw into his back, but he kept his pace slow, stopping when he'd finally managed to go all the way in. It was hard to breathe on both ends. Derek let his head fall limp as he closed his eyes, filled with bliss as he withdrew, pushing in a little faster the second time. "You okay?" he asked, looking to make sure he wasn't hurting the boy.

"F-Fine." Stiles managed, chest heaving as he tried to regain some sort of stable breathing. "You can... you can go faster."

"Don't say things like that when you're terrified." Derek returned, leaning forward a little more so that his forehead could connect with Stiles' shoulder. "It's okay, just relax."

"I can't." Stiles whimpered, clinging onto Derek a little tighter. "It's too much. M-maybe you should just pull out!"

Derek moved the hand at Stiles' thigh to his front, gripping his erection the way he knew Stiles liked, continuing to whisper encouragement and relaxing words as Stiles slowly relaxed, even moving his hips again. Derek had to stop talking for a moment so that he could gather himself again, trying to stay calm and not move as Stiles wriggled beneath him. "I'm good now." Stiles whined, "So move."

"If I start now I won't stop." Derek warned, his stare becoming more of a glare than he'd intended it to be.

Stiles just nodded silently, telling Derek to continue.

So he pushed all the way in with one thrust.

Stiles' mouth opened without sound, but he didn't tell Derek stop as the thrusts continued like that, all the way in and slowly back out. The pain numbed quickly, and soon Stiles was trying to find a rhythm to counter Derek, making him go faster and the mattress squeak louder. Stiles started to make the real sounds when one thrust slammed into him in a particular way, causing his gut to twist and jerk in a way of ecstasy. "Derek!" he gasped.

With a smirk, the pattern continued, both of them closer to the edge with every slam of the hips. Stiles was livid when Derek bit into his neck hard enough to break the skin, roughly grabbing Stiles shoulders as he rose out his orgasm. Finally falling down beside the boy, Derek huffed out a barely audible, "I love you."

Coming down from the high was harsh.

Something in his brain clicked. You know the feeling when you go into a room for something, and then immediately forget what you're looking for? That stupid, "I should know this" feeling? It's a common thing people go through, but it's normally for something trivial like a set of keys or a letter that needs mailing.

Stiles felt terrified as he slowly began to sink away from the man who laid next to him. His fear must have shown, "Stiles? You alright?"

Stiles cringed, looking over the man he'd obviously just had sex with, taking in their surroundings, but it was all wrong for some reason. His head hurt. He knew this. He must know this one. It would be stupid of him not to. "Stiles?" came the parroted question, "Are you alright?"

"I-" he whined, voice cracking, "I can't remember your name..."


	8. Brain Wall

The doctors said it was a part of Stiles' PTSD that caused him to have a sort of triggered concussion. That wasn't the worst of it. Stiles had forgotten two hours worth. He didn't even remember treating Derek's wound in the ice cream shop. He'd forgotten everything Derek had told him. Everything that had happened.

Derek sat in the uncomfortable chair of a hospital waiting room, head back against the wall with his eyes shut. If he'd been thinking clearly before, he probably could have prevented this. He hadn't explained everything to Stiles, and when nothing happened in the shop, Derek had been so relieved. Something must have snapped Stiles' unbreakable 'mind wall' as they'd referred to it in Beacon Hills. The lot of them who were friends with Stiles before the incident.

_"His fucking brain has screwed us all over!" Lydia had cursed, kicking one of the walls in his home, "Can't remember a thing." _

_"He'll remember us." Scott assured her, hands clasped as he sat on the edge of Derek's couch, "I don't think he'll remember what took him though." _

_"What did the doctors say?" Derek grunted from where he stood, propped against the front door. _

_Scott scowled, "I still don't understand why you won't just go see him. Maybe it would help!" _

_"His dad won't let me." the wolf growled through his teeth, "Thinks I've got something to do with this." _

_"You do." _

_"But I didn't cause it! I'm worried more than any of you." _

_Lydia rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration, "Doctor said over exposure could re-open a wound. He's built up some sort of memory blockage that's keeping the event hidden away, like some kind of mind wall. I guess forgetting us is a way of forgetting the supernatural." _

_"So this mind wall is why he can't remember his best friend?" Scott glared up from his seat, "I think this is a load of crap." _

_"He's forgotten all of us alright?" Allison snapped, "Let it go." _

Had their night been what caused the wall to snap? Or try to rebuild itself? Derek let his eyes open, blankly staring at the ceiling. Mr. Stillinski would be there soon, Derek had no doubt. The man would see him and probably try to shoot him again. He'd been the one to finally find Stiles that day. Whatever took him had kept him locked up in an abandoned bunker for at least a couple days. Finding Stiles shivering in a ball on the floor was probably the second worst moment in his life. When Stiles revealed he didn't remember... that took first place. Just thinking about the pale, confused expression on his face when he'd said it made Derek's stomach churn.

Derek looked out the window and into the lit parking lot. It was still night. Stillinski would be there soon. He needed to leave. He should definitely leave...

But... he couldn't get himself to move.

Derek hadn't once been able to visit Stiles the first time he'd gone through this, and wasn't told Stiles was leaving until he was already gone. Took a few years, but he'd found them again. The visitations started innocently, just a stop in at the ice cream shop now and again, bringing girls in so he didn't look like some sort of stalker. Derek thought he was a genius, ordering Stiles' favorite flavor every time he came in. He thought it would be easier to deal with it if he at least _saw _Stiles, just to make sure he was alright. It got harder knowing that he was far from it.

Derek would be damned if he didn't stick around this time.

The set of Hospital doors opened violently as a man came in with a loud voice, "Where's my son!" he steamed, marching over to the front desk and repeating himself to the poor woman behind the counter. "I got a call that he was here. What room is he in?"

"Stillinski." Derek huffed, coming up from behind.

Conciquesnces be damned.

"H-Hale?" the (former) sheriff questioned, "What are you doing here?" his look of confusion suddenly growing tense, "Is this you're doing?!"

"No sir. Stiles had a concussion. I brought him here. He's fine, conscious, and the nurse said he even asked for some peanut butter ice cream."

Stiles' father nodded, semi content before turning back to the subject of Derek's presence, "What brings you here boy? I thought I made it pretty clear back in Beacon Hills that I didn't want you going anywhere near my son."

Derek frowned before shoving his fists into his pockets, "I stayed away for a long time. Don't make me leave again."

"Stiles was always getting into trouble around you, and don't call me crazy for making that connection. He'd come home with some obscure injury, miss a lacrosse game, stay out late.. all sorts of nonsense. Is it any coincidence that you show up after five peaceful years and he's suddenly back in the hospital?"

The sheriff has crossed his arms, scowling as Derek tried to find some way to defend himself, "I wasn't responsible for his disappearance. I found him for gods sake!"

"By some miracle. You just happened to find out what obscure place he'd been taken to huh?"

Actually... he'd used his nose, but there was no way he could tell Mr. Stillinski _that_. "Coincidence."

"I don't believe in coincidence."

"Either way," Derek huffed, "I needed to see him."

"You don't need squat." The Sheriff glared, "Just get the hell outa here, Hale."

"I can't do that sir."

"You damn well can boy."

Derek tried not to growl through clenched teeth. There was no arguing with this man when it came to Stiles, and while Derek admired the protective nature he had for his son, he was getting annoyed. "You can't force me to leave again!"

The sheriff seemed unimpressed, "You only bring trouble."

Derek forced himself to calm down, taking deep breaths and doing his best not to glare at the offending man in front of him, "...Please sir." he softened, "I need to be near him. I let it go because I believed you were right, but I can't leave him as he is now."

Mr. Stilinski seemed to consider this for a moment, but his stare was still as hard as ever, "He did just fine, five years without you."

"Stiles is far from fine! I watched him have a panic attack, and stopped him from having nearly three more! He doesn't speak, he's shy and a loner. The Stiles I knew, you couldn't get to shut up!" Derek's voice had risen in volume, and people around them were starting to stare, "He is _far_ from 'fine'."

As the sheriff neared dangerously, Derek thought he was going to be hit. A hand raised, and he braced himself for the impact, surprised when the limb fell softly, the man's fingers curling over his shoulder, "I know boy." he whispered, "You get one chance. Anything goes wrong an you're gone."

Derek stared at the man, a little taken back when a threatening gaze met his, "Got it?"

"Yes sir."

"Good... Now, show me to my son's room."


	9. AN COMPUTER BREAKDOWN!

**Hello lovelies! I'm sorry you got stuck with an authors note instead of an update, but I'm afraid that updates will be put on hold for a short period. My computer decided it wanted to crash, so my documents, writing music, photos, all that jazz is being shipped in my laptop and away to Kentucky! I won't even know if they can actually fix it until a deadline of two weeks to 45 days... It's put me in a bit of a bad mood needless to say.**

**I hope you can hang in there long enough for me to get it back! And in case you're wondering, this update is being posted from a phone, and I would write that way, accept for the fact that it is extremely difficult to do so! Anyway, hang in there! And pray, chant, sing whatever you need to do for my poor laptop to fix itself!**

**-LF**


	10. I Forgive You

**Ahh! I'm sorry, I know I said I'd get an update out sooner but so much happened and ugh.. I need a new life. -.- The world sucks! Anyway, here's a new chapter for you lovelies who have stuck with me and been so supportive. Reviews are love! Hope you like it!**

**P.S. Any ideas or theories on what's going on yet? What's causing all this? ;) This chapter has also been updated with corrections. (The original was posted at like 2 am or something) Anyway, Thanks for sticking with me. :)**

* * *

The darkness that surrounded Stiles was sickening and thick. His captor's voice chuckled deeply in his ear as the boy pushed himself further against the wall, trying to escape the stranger. "You're getting careless Stiles." The voice mocked.

Cringing, he forced his eyes shut, whispering with a begging voice as his hands pressed flatly against the coldness at his back, "What... what do you want from me?"

That familiar laugh returned in Stiles' right ear within seconds, making his whole body jump, "Nothing you haven't already been giving me."

"W-what?" he gasped, feeling breath finally return to his lungs.

Stiles' eyes were becoming more aware of his dark surroundings as his pupils adjusted. His pubescent night vision barely lightened the bandaged face that appeared in so many nightmares. With the blink of an eye, his captor was in his face, greeting styles like an old friend once more. It's sharp teeth formed a vicious, tight grin that released a stench like rotting caucuses as it spoke, "Until next time, _pet_."

The voice disappeared with a sudden movement, and Stiles woke with a start, dripping with sweat and practically screaming for help.

There was a nurse there to calm him when he woke, stooping close to the bed and laying gentle hands on his shoulders, "Shh, it's alright, you're alright." she assured him, petting down the damp hair on his head and trying to time their breathing into a soft, soothing sync.

Stiles heaved a few more heavy breaths as the nurse did her best to soothe him, speaking in a soft voice and sparing him a kind smile before finally asking him about his nightmare. Of course, he didn't speak, just eyed the woman. Her kind smile faltered a moment, but only for a glimpse of a second. "It's perfectly alright if you don't want to talk about it. You've had a couple visitors, and I'm only here to check up on you and fiddle with the cords. No need to worry."

Now Stiles felt a little bad. She was being nice and didn't look like much of a threat. His brain had just automatically tried to asses her when he saw her, taking into account her appearance and stature to judge like you judge a book cover before reading it. Figuring out if strangers were threats like some sort of paranoid child was another bad habit he'd like to kick. The nurse noticed Stiles spacing out and waved a hand in front of his face jokingly, "You alright there sweetheart?"

He gave a silent nod before settling back into his pillow. The hospital bed wasn't comfortable. It was tough and hard, the mat was too firm and the angle was all wrong. It left Stiles' back feeling sore and tight as his muscles struggled not to tense up against the practical _cement block_ he leaned against. Movies made it look a better than it was... but that could be said for just about anything in _any_ movie though...

"Well, if you're feeling up for it, there are some people waiting out in the hall for you." the nurse informed, donning a plastic smile, "They've been doting around for quite some time. At least, the young one has."

The young one? The man he couldn't remember? He stiffened at the thought. It was a scary thing to forget someone name _while you were sharing a bed_. It was not only frightening, but... depressing. He couldn't even imagine how the man had felt, being asked what his name was after something so intimate, but if he was still waiting around, didn't that mean he'd forgiven Stiles? After a few more seconds of fighting himself in his head, Stiles gave a light nod to the nurse, holding onto the scratchy blue hospital blanket that had been constricting his legs. Hospital beds were _not_ comfortable.

The nurse disappeared for a minute, coming back with two men following her. One was the nameless... bedmate... and the other, his father. Relief swept over Stiles as his father passed the nurse and wrapped him up in a warm, fatherly hug. "Thank god. I got a call that you were in the hospital and nearly broke the law getting here."

Stiles gave a short laugh, "_You_?"

"I may have been the sheriff in Beacon Hills, but I have a wild side of my own."

Derek wanted to interject and offer something to the-more one sided-conversation and tell Stillinski he sounded like a forty year old woman telling her friends she could still drink, but kept quietly to himself in the back. He sat himself down in one of those creamy brown hospital chairs that made more noise than they should have whenever you shifted an inch. Mr. Stillinski had started interrogating the nurse on Stiles' condition, leaving Stiles an open moment to stare at Derek from his bed.

The two made awkward eye contact for a moment, until Stiles forced his eyes on the rail of his bed, suddenly finding it very interesting. Derek just slouched in his chair, hands shoved into his pockets and fighting a scowl. Everything about this situation was screwed up and shouldn't have been worth his time, or the trip out of Beacon Hills. Seeing Stiles had been worth it, if not just to know he was okay... and alive. Whatever had caused Stiles' trauma had been supernatural, and it was clear now that it hadn't left him. Derek let his teeth grind for a moment as he thought about everything he knew, going it all over in his head like a case file.

In vain.

His head was one big gumbo pot, and sometimes he couldn't even tell which ingredients were what. "_Hale_."

Stillinski's voice broke his train of thought, as the man sent him a concerned look. "I'm going to have a chat with the nurse out in the hall. Can I trust you to keep an eye on my boy?" he questioned, seemingly irritated that it had come down to that.

"Yeah." came the barely audible reply. He coughed, and replied louder, "Yes sir."

"Good." his father's gaze turned back to Stiles; softening, "I'll be right outside. Holler if you need me."

Stiles gave a light smile and nod before he and the nurse exited the room. There were a few moments of awkward silence, but Stiles used the time to discover just how much he really enjoyed picking at the plastic of his hospital band. When Derek straightened however, his attention immediately snapped back to the scruffy looking man. "So.." Derek coughed, "You... don't remember a thing?"

Shaking his head, Stiles resigned back to his bracelet, trying to see if he could scratch off the corner of the sticker. "Not a single thing?"

"No." he finally voiced, stabbing Derek with an irritated flick of his eyes before once more deciding the bracelet was more entertaining.

"Got it." Derek grunted, falling back against the chair with a noisy huff. "I didn't do anything to piss you off did I?"

A much softer pair or eyes found their way to the man this time, encouraging him to go on. "You're obviously uneasy about something. I'd like to know." When he was greeted with only silence, Derek growled, "I know you can talk to me. You were talking a lot with me just last night... but you probably don't remember that huh?" Stiles had started to look away again, "Damn it!"

Derek slammed his hands on the arms of his chair, making Stiles jump, "Sorry, sorry... God damn it... This is just so stupid."

Stiles took a moment to breathe, passing glances between Derek and his bracelet several times before giving up and letting his hands rest at his sides; head back against the pillow so that he could stare at the weird ceiling patterns. Mainly to keep any water from forming in his eyes. "M'sorry..."

"What?"

"M...'m'sorry." he repeated, much more watery than the first time.

"No. No, Stiles."

"I'm sorry."

Derek stood suddenly and came to Stiles' side, bending over the side of the low rails and covering a hand with his own, "No. Stop apologizing."

"I'm sorry I can't remember you."

Derek could do nothing but watch helplessly as red circles started to spread from Stiles' eyes, water covering his beautifully blue irises and gathering at the corners, ready to fall down the sides of his head. "It's not your fault."

"I'm so sorry!"

"Stiles..." he assured, "I forgive you, don't cry."


	11. Technology

**Well, low and behold... My computer crashed yet again! Yay! -,- Technology must hate me. Is the same framing problem too! In short update aren't coming out as quick and pretty as if like them to, but life has become hectic with people instigating ****romance, getting ahead of the game in school and my STUPID COMPUTER! I hope you'll all still stick around while I try to sort out the mess... Seriously...**

**Sorry...**

**-an apologetic LF**

**ADDITION 2/18/15**

**Well. All your praying, good luck, and demonic chants (or whatever you did) seemed to work. XD My computer got back into business very quickly this time, thank goodness! Anyway, to celebrate this occasion, I'll be writing for a straight hour, seeing how many chapters I can writer for the stories that are getting this update. Thank you all for commenting some lovely things and sticking with me and all of my computer issues. :) I've gotten an update on it and learned some sneaky tricks, so I'll be able to keep my technology out of trouble. ;) Anywhoooo... keep your eyes sharp for some updates coming out within the next few hours. **

**-LF**


	12. Living Arrangements

Apart from the memory loss, there really wasn't anything else wrong with Stiles. So the doctor sent him off with some pain medicine on hand in case any side effect migraines should occur, with a number to call and a kid's sticker Stiles had picked out himself, because it was stupid to think any of these doctors would know how bad ass Captain America truly was. The parking lot was a bit of an awkward parting, Mr. Stillinski and Stiles waving off Derek as he threw a leg over his motorcycle and fastened the clip of his helmet.

It was nice to be in his street clothes again too. The nurse had been kind enough to let him keep his boxers on, but he couldn't even imagine how imposingly chilly it would have been to walk around in a gown that was designed to not go all the way around. On their way out, Stiles had actually been plagued with the sight of an older man, shuffling down the hall with a wrinkly pair of cheeks mooning them the whole hallway. He'd need a few years of therapy to burn _that_ image out of his brain. There should be indecent exposure laws against those outfits...

His dad was, uncomfortably quiet for the trip home. He kept his hands on the wheel, cracked the window an inch, and glared at the road like it was the cause of all his problems. The radio thumped a quiet beat through the speakers as the volume was set lowly, even though it was pointless. With the music that low nothing could really be made out, and all that made it's way past the base beat was just white noise. Stiles kept his eyes out the window, leaning on a palm as his elbow tucked into the crook between window and car door. It was... a really uncomfortable quietness.

"We've got another appointment in a few weeks." The sheriff muttered, "Doc says if they're more side effects, we should know by then."

Stiles hummed in response, eyes trained on the muggy morning it was turning out to be.

He'd spent less time in the hospital than he would have expected. The tests has been done rather quickly, and they had the results before the night had even been over. Kept him overnight, ran another test, wrote a prescription and the doctors had sent him off late morning. Of course, it helped that his father had signed them up for an instant access agreement that listed him for special care thanks to his previous "health and mental disabilities". Basically charging you four hundred dollars a month for less paperwork and half the waiting time.

Stiles watched the grey rainwater gather on his window, the droplets folding over one another until gravity kicked in, sending the whole tiny drop to slide down the glass like a tear. It was the sort of whether that kept people inside, curled up by the TV with a warm mug of whatever, wrapped up in their blankets. "You don't need to see that boy again if you don't want to." his dad spoke, breaking the poetic peacefulness Stiles has entranced himself with, "You know that right?"

"Derek?" Stiles voiced, hoping he'd gotten the name right.

"Hm." he hummed in agreement.

Playing with the material of his seatbelt, Stiles let the arm that been supporting his head fall, the side of his skull tapping the window. "I know." he mumbled.

It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to see him again. It was just... a painfully awkward and saddening thing. Like an older relative that recognizes and calls you by name at the family reunion, but you just can't recall them. That "_I should know this_" moment of stupidity. Stiles huffed out a long sigh, turning the volume nub over to the right a few notches in some attempt to hear the song. "This station plays nothing but crap." his father griped, reaching over to switch the channel.

Stiles didn't want to say that he liked the song, and would have felt content to just let his dad switch it over, but the song that played next was one of those songs with a beat that grabs you when you're in high spirits, and lyrics that crush you when you're not. Perfect. The sheriff seemed content though, humming along to the main verse and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel like any parent that doesn't bother to really _listen_ to a song.

_I was a boat drifting out into the sea_

_I had nothing but pieces and thoughts and the hope that you would see_

_I was a stone thrown away from land_

_thousands and thousands of miles away from reaching your hand_

His father gave him a side stare when he pushed the power button with force and slammed back into the seat. It should just be quiet for a while. Yeah, quiet would be the best thing right now. It was a relief when the car _finally_ pulled into the driveway.

* * *

Derek was staying in one of those cheap motels that always seemed to reek of smoke and sex, with all rooms on ground level and women standing outside that looked suspiciously like hookers. It wasn't the most ideal of places, but they let him pin things on the wall and park his bike right outside the door. There was just a double bed, a bureau with a small TV, and a desk with chipped corners. The lamps on the wall lit the room, but with a gross and oily sort of yellow that brought down the whole room's persona. The desk was littered with papers, newspaper clippings, supernatural sources, anything and anyone that could help lead him to the bottom of the Stiles mystery.

It could be properly classified as his obsession. In Beacon Hills, he'd went and made a corkboard plan, pinned with red string that would make any crazy conspiracy theorist proud. The wall had a few more, _key_ elements to his personal investigation, but most of it was still scattered over his desktop.

He had to find out what was causing this.

He had to find out how to fix it.

He had to find out why Stiles was like this.

He'd only just gotten the boy back in his arms after so many years to find him torn away instantly, like something was getting a sort of sick pleasure off of their misery. It was a cruel game he was playing with himself. A little over five years and all he had managed to wrap his head around was that it was a monster. Something that needed Stiles to stay alive. Of course, that didn't narrow down any possibilities really. Most of the 'big and bad' in the world fed off the weak.

A witch? A hunter even? Was it a spell? A curse?

Derek gave his collage one last look over before running a frustrated palm through his hair. He kicked off his shoes, tossed his jacket over the TV, and fought every urge to punch out the light. He could do this. He could find out what was torturing Stiles. He could do it. He just... needed a little rest.


	13. I want this

It was a Thursday, a few days after the incident with Derek, and still no word. Derek hadn't come to the ice cream shop since the day he'd gone to the hospital. Distressed, Stiles called in sick, grabbed the half-eaten tub of his favorite, and set himself up with some stupid marathon on the television. He'd pay half-attention to it. Stiles didn't bother changing out of what he'd slept in, content with pulling a blanket over his crossed legs and plunking the carton of ice cream in the middle. Spoon in one hand, remote in the other, he cranked the volume up a few notches.

Derek hadn't even stopped by to say hello. Maybe it wasn't something he should be worrying over, and maybe Derek just needed a little time away. That would make sense right? Stiles didn't think he would be up for seeing someone he'd slept with so soon after they'd lost their memory. His cheeks reddened at the thought of that night, and how spot on all of Derek's touches and caresses had been, and how they sparked every good nerve in his body. Stiles punched himself mentally and tried to deter away from those kinds of thoughts. The whole thing was like something out of a soap opera. Did that make him the sobbing Latino woman in this scenario?

Stiles dug away at the chocolate surrounding an especially large chunk of peanut butter and pried it out with the spoon, reveling in the way it dissolved slowly in his mouth. Finding the big chucks of peanut butter in Choco-PB was like digging for gold, probably part of the reason it was his favorite. The program he'd switched on was a fall-season sort of marathon that one of the networks was putting on, and the first movie was some corny romance. Perfect. Stiles scooped another glob of cool ice cream into his mouth and sucked at it with irritation. He hadn't done something to piss Derek off had he? Maybe the man had just given up. It wouldn't surprise him.

Stiles let his spoon rest against the side of the carton, suddenly having a little less of an appetite.

Why was he letting this plague him? It would be normal to feel guilt, or maybe even a little regret that he didn't remember this guy like he knew he should, but... it was taking up all the space in his brain. "Damn it..." he huffed, letting his head fall against the back of the couch.

He didn't feel like watching the rest of the program, and wasn't hungry for any more ice cream. Stiles clicked off the channel and made his way back to his room after packing away the CPB carefully. No need to take his frustrations out of his baby. His bedroom felt a little colder than downstairs, and Stiles resolved to just cuddle up on his bed. He'd just will this stupid feeling away. With a clouded mind and tired eyes, Stiles looked up and out the window. The trees had almost lost all their leaves by this point, and the late-day's sun shone over a bird that has perched itself on a naked branch. Stiles smiled half-heartedly.

Birds were pretty amazing things. Once they reached the age where curiosity got the better of them, they'd wander out onto a branch, and without any preparation or lessons like children get in schools, the mother would push them off the edge. They learned to fly by falling. Maybe that was a little more poetic than it needed to be, but the thought of learning to achieve greatness by failing seemed to lift his spirits a little. He'd survive. It shouldn't really matter if Derek came back, or if he got over his PTSD, or if he managed to talk more. He'd survive. Maybe get better if he was lucky, but it took falling to learn how to fly.

Satisfied, Stiles let himself doze off.

His peaceful snoozing didn't last long however, as a noisy and rough tapping forced him awake. He figured it was a bird or a wind-blown tree branch, and pulled the pillow over her face; annoyed. When the tapping persisted, he gave in and sat up. The sight he was greeted with was enough to knock him completely out of his sleep induced haze.

Derek was crouched in front of his window... on the second floor...

Flinging the covers off, Stiles nearly tripped onto his face getting to the glass and pulling up on the window, "What are you doing?!"

With a smirk, Derek climbed in, "You weren't at the shop today, so I wanted to see how you were doing."

What the hell? What kind of creep climbs a house to get into someone's window? "Wh-What?!"

The grin in Derek's face was sin, "What? It's not like you've never had someone climb through your window."

"I haven't!"

Suddenly, Derek hesitated. His smirk faltered and his eyes hardened into a look that made Stiles flinch. He hadn't had someone crawl into his room like that... had he? He.. didn't remember anything like that. More questions piled up in his brain as Stiles ran his eyes over Derek's figure. He looked tired, maybe even exhausted. What had he been doing to wind up in such a state? And that look... "I haven't... right?"

"Don't know." Derek muttered, plopping down on Stiles' bed awkwardly, "Anyway, you feeling better?"

Stiles gave a light nod and slid up onto the middle of the mattress, crossing his legs and staring at Derek's back as he perched on the edge. "Good." he hummed, "Good..."

"You.. said that already."

"Yeah, I know." Derek smiled, turning his head a few degrees to peer over at the boy.

Awkward silence ensured after that, and Derek let out a long sigh before plopping down onto his back, staring up at Stiles with a bit of an upside down peripheral. Smiling fondly, Stiles was temped to rake through the head of hair that sat practically in his lap. "You know..." Derek began, "This is the second time you've forgotten me."

The hand that was about to touch Derek's hair stilled as Stiles stared back and the man's longing eyes. So they _had_ met before. He'd hurt Derek twice now, but he still came back. "I would have found you sooner... but your dad thought it was my fault." he continued, letting his eyes close with an intensely irritated furrow, "I searched for years and then... I didn't know how to approach you. I didn't want to freak you out but- I just had to fucking see you."

Stiles was drawn in, listening to Derek's apology and trying to keep his own cool.

"You used to talk a mile a minute, and we couldn't ever get you to shut up." he chuckled, a reminiscent smile on his face, "You used to ramble on and on just so I'd have to quiet you with a kiss." Derek cracked open an eye to see Stiles' face, "Little minx."

Stiles mind was racing in time with his breaths, heart pounding as he thought over what sort of reaction he was supposed to give. Leave? Stay quiet? Say something? _Do _something? The more Derek talked, the more he felt his chest clench with anguish, so before he could open his mouth to speak again, Stiles leaned over, trying to keep his chin from bumping Derek's nose as he connected their lips. He'd forgotten Derek twice, but he still came back. He wanted this. He wanted to make Derek happy, and make up for all the hurt he'd caused him. He wanted to remember.

As they slowly parted from the kiss, Derek smiled, and Stiles was absolutely sure.


	14. Can't Get a Break

There was no nightmare. No waking up drenched in sweat or crying from fear. There was no dark stranger drooling into his ear or a damp, cold room around him. Stiles, for the first time in years, had a peaceful night's sleep. When he woke, he was dazed, surprised to have casually pulled himself out of sleep. He noted the warm arms wrapped tightly around him, one looped over his torso and the other tucked under his head like a pillow. Derek was behind him, nuzzled into the back of his neck.

It was warm.

That sounds like a stupid way of describing it, but Stiles hadn't woken up warm in ages. He was always freezing from the breeze cooling off his sweat, or because he'd toss and turn and push any blankets off himself, but he was warm. The blankets stayed over his body and the heat radiating off of Derek was so comfortable. Realizing just how much he enjoyed it, Stiles let himself close his eyes once more, and relax his muscles.

It was so comfortable.

He would have dozed off again if the loud knocking on his door hadn't jolted him away from sleep. "Stiles." his father yelled from the opposite side, "You awake yet? It's nearly noon. Aren't you going to work?"

Stiles pushed at the arm over his side and sat up, "I-I'm awake."

"Alright. If you're ready in ten I'll give you a ride."

Derek was stirring now, and looked up at Stiles; still a little sleep drowsy. In a bit of panic, Stiles started dressing, "Okay!" he replied, pulling off the clothes he'd fallen asleep in. There wasn't time to shower, so Derek watched him amusedly as he 'brushed his teeth' by scraping off the plac with his shirt and popping in a minty piece of gum. His T-shirt was wrinkled, and he found himself cold after leaving the warm bed, so he slipped into a sweatshirt and zipped up the front.

"You don't have to rush you know." Stillinski assured from the other side of the door, "I don't have to go in today."

Stiles was still rumbling around trying to get his shoes on now, and tossing a shirt to Derek, who evidently had lost his in the night. Stiles eyed the bandage over Derek's torso suspiciously. What was it from? A faint feeling of Deja vu pushed at him, but he was distracted by Derek and his shirt. Stiles had given up trying to find Derek's shirt and simply tossed him one of the shirts in his drawer. When he slipped it on however, it turned out to be a few sizes too small, and while Stiles held a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh, Derek let out a warning growl, and threw it back. The shirt knocked some pencils off the side of his desk, which fell to the floor in scattered clunks, "Are you alright in there son?"

"Fine dad!"

Stiles held a finger to his lips in a sort of "shut up Derek" kind of way.

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine!" he repeated, pushing Derek and a new shirt towards the window. He'd come in that way, there shouldn't be a reason that he couldn't leave the same.

"I'm coming in."

The door opened just as Derek tumbled over the edge and the window shut.

* * *

"Welcome, anything I can help you with sugar?"

Stiles gave Jane a sideways glance and slung his backpack off his shoulder. She grinned mischievously, "Still not very talkative with me huh? You sure said a lot to that sourpuss that came in earlier." She ducked behind the counter and pulled out a small plastic bowl, swinging the scooper in her opposite hand. "You should be careful though, I think he's into you." she warned; Stiles trying not to chuckle at the dramatic irony of it, "The guy came in here yesterday and left the second he realized you weren't here. That's creepy."

A faint smile crept up to Stiles' lips. Jane kept talking to herself about it as she scooped some Chocolate Peanut Butter into the bowl and slid it along the counter to him. When he looked up at her, she smiled, "On my paycheck. You've been pretty out of it lately, and I know it's your favorite."

"Th-thanks." he muttered, thumbing the side of the colorful plastic, absent mindedly.

"You know.." she started, pulling at a strand of her hair, "I notice a lot of things."

Stiles popped a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth before passing her a confused look. She looked tired, he realized. She was always thin, but she never looked as tired as she did. Maybe something at home was bothering her, not that a drunk dad and the weight of caring for kids on her shoulders wouldn't be a bother. Jane continued to pull and play with a stray bit of hair as her eyes flickered bath and forth from the abandoned scooper to his ice cream countless times.

"What I mean is..." she stuttered, "I notice a lot of things about _you_."

What? Stiles thought maybe he'd heard wrong, or maybe Jane slipped something into his ice cream, but what he'd heard couldn't have been right. Stiles was snapped out of his thoughts by a painful laugh, Jane smiled at him, "I'm just kidding you sap." she teased, ruffling his hair, "and you can sweep the back room since you were late." She turned, and it would have seemed okay, but... the smile didn't really reach her eyes.

"I-"

The bell jingled over the door and Jane offered the new customer a plastic grin, "Welcome!"

Awkwardly, Stiles made his way to the back and pulled out the broom. He swept the floor, possibly more thoroughly than he needed to. After that he wiped down the table they used for lunch breaks, and pushed in the chairs. He checked on the extra stock and made sure nothing was expired, swept again, and sat himself down at the table. He wanted to go home. He felt uncomfortable. The unpleasant feeling was something he associated with bad, and... it was all just too complicated. Gave him a headache that just bugged him more. He was about to try and sneak out the back when Jane popped her head through the door, "Hey." she called, "Sourpuss is back. He's lookin' for ya. Should I tell him to scram?"

"N-no!" Stiles stuttered, "He's.. here to pick me up."

"Oh." she blinked, "Didn't know you swung that way."

"I-"

"I'll let him know you're coming then." she grinned, sticking out her tongue before pulling back to the counter.

Stiles let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose for a few seconds, trying to will away what he was sure was an oncoming migraine. He forced himself up and into the front, only to be greeted by a cheeky looking Derek. He had his elbows over the top of the counter by the cash register, smiling at him. "Hey." he offered, drawing back and shoving his hands into his pockets.

Stiles immediately grabbed his bag, hoping Derek would get the memo that he was ready to leave, and nodded. Derek watched carefully, and when he rounded the counter, reverted back to that faux expression Stiles had seen him wear with the women he originally brought into the shop, "Ready to go?"

Jane was eyeing them awkwardly, and looking a little too involved in scrubbing the part of the counter they used to mix the ice cream with the toppings. "Yeah.." he muttered, hesitating to offer Jane one last glance before following Derek out of the shop.

He couldn't get a break. He'd said it jokingly before, but it was like some unseen force of the universe was literally trying to ruin his life. Not that his co-worker and only friend liking him was the end of the world, but it didn't do him any favors. Jane was an awesome girl but she was more like the sister he never had than a potential love interest. He climbed into the passenger seat of Derek's car and gripped the material of his jeans. He couldn't get a break.


	15. Road Trip

**Ahh, sorry for the bit of a wait for an update here.. I've sort of broken my own rule for stories. I'm only supposed to have three or less at a time but... ALL MY BABIES WANT ATTENTION! Sorry.. Anyway, it's spring break next week and I'll try to get more updates written and out. :) I love this story personally, and I hope you're all enjoying it too. If you are, or aren't, let me know in the comments? Do I need to improve anything? What's good and what's not? I'll never know what to do without your opinions. XD ****Also, this chapter ended up being a lot longer than I meant it to... so be warned, there's more reading ahead than usual. **

**Now, without further delay, ON WITH THE SHOW! Thank you for all your support. -LF**

* * *

"So what was wrong?" Derek questioned, eyes on the road and a tight grip on the wheel, "I got the hint, but what happened?"

"It was nothing." Stiles retorted, glance trained out the window.

Derek shook his head with a huff, "Sure. Nothing."

Stiles didn't think it was a big enough problem to really burden Derek with, in fact, he'd prefer not to. So he kept to himself and silently played a tune in his head. Derek sighed, "Alright, well, I'm taking you out for a surprise today."

"A surprise?" Stiles repeated, turning his head back cautiously.

"Yup."

"What kind of surprise?"

"The kind I can't talk about." Derek smirked, not offering Stiles any kind of hint, "I _can_ tell you that you'll like it though."

Stiles gave up trying to interrogate an answer out of the man, and returned to simply examining the outside world through the window. It was sort of a grey day, when the rain drips in streams down the glass and the tree's leaves are greener than spring. The sky was dark, and just... utterly grey. It was the sort of day that was good for curling up inside the house with a hot drink and a cozy blanket. A day to read. A day to relax.

Stiles however, was far from relaxing.

"How much longer?" he questioned.

"It'll only take longer if you keep asking." Derek retorted, "You're really vocal today."

Stiles hummed in reply. He had been speaking a lot more. It was a good thing. His throat had stopped burning so badly when he spoke with Derek. He felt calmer and even eager when it came to talk. He had things to say, and it felt good to voice them. "Yeah..." he added unnecessarily, "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

Derek grinned, "It's a good thing."

"Yeah." Stiles smiled, "Yeah, it is."

* * *

After a while one the road, Stiles decided he was tired. Going to bed late and waking up early wasn't good for anyone trying to catch any rest. He told Derek he was going to try and nap for a bit, propping his feet up on the dashboard and leaning his head against his balled up sweatshirt. It was a little uncomfortable, but helped when it came to not bumping his head against the glass of the window every time they drove over a pot hole.

They drove for the longest time, through freeways and long stretches of barren land. Stiles saw a field of windmills slowly pass them, beautifully sculpted mountain ranges and occasionally herds of cattle. The day was getting gradually warmer and warmer as the duration of their trip lengthened. Stiles wondered briefly if he should let his dad know he'd be gone. He hadn't exactly planned to take a surprise road trip, and they were still driving to their destination... it would take even longer to get home. "I'm gonna let my dad know where I am." Stiles muttered before flipping through the contacts in his phone.

He had a lot of them, left over from his days in Beacon Hills. His phone automatically sorted his contacts by last name, and 'Stillinski' had found its way to the bottom files of his cell. He could have just skipped directly to 'S'... but something stopped him from doing so.

Allison Argent, Liam Dunbar... a few names of people he'd said goodbye to, without any emotional attachment. He couldn't remember them well enough to have any. He swiped over Derek's name and pressed on. Kiera and Malia, who's last names weren't in his list. He frowned, and continued slowly thumbing down the line, Lydia Martin, Scott McCall... the more he looked at them, the more these names seemed familiar. So familiar it hurt a little. He winced, not wanting to scroll down any further, forced himself to skip to the 'S' section of his phone and harshly tapped his father's contact.

He sent a brief text, and shoved the phone back into the pocket of his sweatshirt violently.

He didn't want to look at it anymore.

"Are we almost there?" Stiles questioned, shutting his eyes to breathe.

He didn't feel right. It wasn't a panic attack or anything, he just.. felt like he was missing something. Like a piece of the puzzle was lost. "We're getting close." Derek replied, sending Stiles a faint look of concern, "You hungry? We can stop for something to eat at the next town."

"... I could go for something."

"Burgers?"

"God, you _do_ know me."

Derek grinned, his eyes now locked on the road once more. "I know you better than you think."

Conversation turned a little tense, not terribly, but enough to make Stiles contemplate going back to his uncomfortable sweatshirt pillow. "What else do you remember about me? Or.. who I was before I moved here?"

"I don't think that's such a good-"

"Please." Stiles pressed, turning his head to face Derek.

He really did want to know. It was human nature to be curious, and when there was nothing to do on a road trip besides talk, what was the point in letting conversation go to waste? Stiles let his hands crumple into light fists in his lap, and refused to break eye contact. Derek's glance flipped from the road to Stiles multiple times before he shook his head, "It's not a good idea."

"Why not?" he pushed, "What's the worst that could happen?!"

"You forget me... _Again_." Derek took one of his hands off the wheel and raked it through his hair, "I don't think I could handle that a third time Stiles."

"I..."

"It's fine Stiles. Just let it go for now."

Reluctantly, he caved, flopping back against the padding of his seat. How the hell was he supposed to get out of a situation like this? Wanting to know what he didn't remember while not being _allowed _to. What was the risk? Losing a memory he already didn't have much of? He would have fought harder; pushed a little further, but Derek's face had been drowned out with hurt. He wasn't going to purposely do that to him again.

They pulled into an exit that had a sign promising at least six different fast food stops. Derek argued that a Wendy's would be cheaper while Stiles tried to sell him the charm of a local joint that advertised "the best burgers around", an obvious ploy, but Stiles had taken it quite literally.

They settled on the diner, as long as Stiles promised to let Derek have next pick of the restaurant.

It was a cool little place that was stuck back in a different time zone, with a juke box, some faded green booths, and a waitress names Flo. No joke, that's what her name tag said. Stiles had chuckled to himself thinking it was a joke, but the dead serious look on her face said otherwise. They ordered quickly thanks to their demanding stomachs, and were left with a little time to kill while waiting for food.

Stiles took to the familiar pass time of observing people. It started with an old couple in a booth, holding hands across the table and nodding their heads in slow, slightly off beat, time to the music. Then the grungy man at a corner table, slumped over a singular cup of coffee with a nasty glare at, seemingly nothing. His hair hung low and oily, the top half hidden beneath a worn bandana. Finally, the jerk by the window. He had a suit and a slick haircut, accompanied by a wandering hand that seemed to manage to find Flo's backside every time she passed him.

"Staring at people is considered weird you know." Derek mumbled, sipping up a bit of the burnt coffee the waitress has served them after a few blows over the cup.

"I'm just watching." Stiles replied, realizing he probably did look like a bit of a creep, and withdrawing, "I like to know what's going on around me."

"You sound like a paranoid old man."

"Say what you want. You're just pouting because you didn't get to pick the restaurant."

Derek rolled his eyes, "Drink your coffee."

"If I do will you finally tell me where we're going? We've been on the road for hours!"

"Not a chance."

Stiles groaned dramatically and plopped his head down on the table, "Why not?"

"I told you." Derek grinned, "It's a surprise."


	16. Deams and Reality

**Any ideas about what's going on? Or where Derek is taking him? If you can guess that I'll give you a gold star bro. **

* * *

After filling their bellies with delicious diner food, the two were on the road again, Derek still stubborn about keeping their destination a secret with Stiles still poking and prodding for an answer. "We're in the middle of nowhere..." Stiles finally huffed, after his third attempt at interrogation, "All that's out here is farms!"

"Then we're obviously not _nowhere_." Derek declared with a cocky grin.

"Oh god!" Stiles yelled out, pulling his shirt over his nose suddenly, "Did you fart or something? It smells like someone died!"

"Relax." Derek retorted, rolling his eyes, "These are cow farms. They all smell like that."

"It's gross..." Stiles complained, holding his shirt tighter and squinting his eyes to keep them from burning, "This surprise better be worth it..."

Derek chuckled, "Oh, trust me. You'll thank me when we get there."

Reluctantly, Stiles sighed and once they finally got past the stench of cow farm, returned to the comfort of his balled-up sweatshirt pillow. He wanted to catch a little more sleep before they got to wherever it was they were headed. Curse Derek and his secrecy. Nevertheless, Stiles smiled to himself as he let his eyes close softly.

* * *

This time his captor was less forgiving. Stiles had to remain quiet as he slipped through corridors so dark that he slammed into the walls, cold and cement. His heart pounded in his head as a voice echoed down the halls behind him, "Run, run, run as fast as you can..."

The sing-song tune bounced off the walls and stabbed at his ears as he tried to go faster. His left leg was still bleeding and unusable, only managing to slow him. He cringed when the wall he'd been leaning against as an anchor ended, the hall turning. He started to fall, and his injured leg came out against the floor to stop him instinctively. He managed to stay upright, but the pain electrified all the way up to his knee. He wanted to scream, but if he made too much noise he'd be caught.

"You'd better not be dilly-dallying Stiles..." the deep voice of a twisted man cooed, every syllable laced with decrepit odium.

He could see him?

Stiles whined as he pressed on further. He had to hide; he had to get out. His hand slipped along the wall as he continued to limp down the hallway. The feeling under his palm suddenly changed as his hand snaked over a door. Panicked, he felt around for the knob, letting out an exasperated sigh of relief when he found it and twisted the handle firmly. He slammed the door shut behind him and fell against it wearily.

Everything was still excruciatingly dark.

His vitality was fading fast as his muscles began to feel weak and drained. He scrunched his eyes shut tightly and prayed for any speck of deliverance. He needed a miracle by this point. He didn't know where he was or who it was that was chasing him.

Well, that was a lie.

It was the same horrible man who'd taken him years ago. He'd been here a million times before, but the scariest part of it all was that the more he revisited the nightmare, he less he remembered about his captor. That same, brooding voice pulled Stiles out of his thoughts with a deep laugh. A sharp pain dug into his arm as his captor bit and tore into his skin with no remorse, forcing Stiles so scream out in agony.

The figure chuckled darkly before sing-songing, "Found you.~"

* * *

"Stiles!" Derek yelled for the third time, pushing at the boy's shoulders in attempts to wake him up.

Stiles was shaking, and even after waking up he couldn't stop. The car was pulled over on the side of the road. Derek had unfastened his seatbelt and was crouched down beside him, holding his hands steady, "It's alright. I've got you." he soothed, "It was just a dream."

"I-It was so real..." Stiles whimpered, "I-I-"

"I've got you." Derek repeated, sitting on his knees to that he could reach into the car better, pulling Stiles into his chest in an awkward, but much needed embrace. "It's alright Stiles, I've got you."

"It was so real..." he cringed, holding onto Derek for dear life as he rode out the tremors, "I couldn't get away from him."

"It was just a dream Stiles, you're alright."

Stiles let his eyes close as he tried to focus of Derek's soft and assuring words. It was just a dream after all; there's nothing to fear but fear itself. He remembered the pain in his leg and the bite in his arm. The feeling had been _so_ lifelike that it had honestly felt like reality. He looked down to his arm, hoping for the reassurance of a clean, perfectly fine patch of skin.

"Derek..." he gasped, his mind going blank.

"What is it?" the man asked, pulling back slightly to look at the boy's dead expression, "Stiles?"

"My... my arm..."

"Your arm?" he parroted, "What about it?"

"Look at it..."

It was bleeding, with bruising in patches around the sharp teeth marks. His heart ached as tears started to form in his eyes, his captor's voice echoing in his ears once more with his haunting tune over and over. Derek's face had fallen, and he was trying to bring Stiles back to reality, but Derek's voice had gone mute behind the ones his captor, the monster, had spoken. Those words just continued to repeat in his mind like a broken record, taunting him with their malice and incontrovertible meaning.

"_**Found you.**_"


	17. The Tillamook Factory

_"For where every strife is, there is confusion in every evil work" -James 3:16 -King James Version_

* * *

"Oh God! Derek! He- he knows where I am! He's found me. Derek, he's coming to get me!"

Derek was vainly trying to calm the poor kid down, holding his arms still as he started to shake and fling his limbs around in a panic, "He's coming for me! He- he found me again!" he kept shouting, becoming almost as loud as the cars that passed on the road behind them.

"Stiles, stiles, calm down. It's alright. It was a dream stiles, nothing more than a dream."

"It wasn't a dream Derek! Look at my ar-" he stopped suddenly when he looked down at the skin of his arm, stunned.

It was completely clean and healthy.

Stiles shook his head over and over in denial, eyed wide and unblinking. There had been a horrible bite mark there... he was sure of it. He had seen it; he had _felt_ it. "I-I-I don't understand..." Stiles cringed, tightening his muscles as Derek continued to try and soothe him, "Why... why is this happening to me?"

Derek bit the inside of his cheek. He wanted to try and tell Stiles again, but last time he had tried, the poor kid had lost even more of his memory. He didn't know everything, but enough to piece together some clues. The creature behind all of this was enjoying himself and getting off on their pain and strife. Derek wouldn't give them the pleasure, and decided to stay quiet. "Sometimes it's just hard to tell."

Stiles took in a deep breath and nodded slowly, "I suppose..."

His conscious immediately kicked into gear and pained to see Stiles so lost, but still, he refused to say what he knew. It would be better for Stiles to stay ignorant until it was nearly over. Derek spent a few more minutes making sure Stiles felt safe. He massaged his tense muscles until they went lax, and raked through Stiles' hair until his head started to bob a bit with weariness.

When he was satisfied, Derek returned to the drivers seat. Maybe his surprise for Stiles would help make him feel better. Hesitantly, he turned the key and started underway. "You're alright." he repeated, reaching over to take one of Stiles' hands while he drove with the other, "I got you."

Stiles hummed tiredly and drew his legs up onto the dashboard, hugging himself with the arm not spread out to hold Derek's hand. "Thank you Derek."

"You're gonna be okay." he once again assured.

Stiles remained quiet after that. Derek seemed focused on caring for him, and while it was sweet, it made Stiles feel guilty. It wasn't Derek's fault that he'd been the target of some mad-man. To this day, Stiles himself hadn't even known what he'd done to become the desire of someone like that. He'd lived a fairly normal life from what he could tell. Of course, he didn't remember most of it.

His thoughts fell into depression once more as he thought of everyone he'd left behind in Beacon Hills without answers. Not that he could really give them any, even if he wanted to. He didn't know much himself. It was a tiring process, thinking back and trying not to blame himself or someone else. Stiles was drained.

He was jolted suddenly from his thoughts when Derek's hand pulled from his own and pushed lightly at his shoulder. "Stiles," Derek grinned, "we're here."

Stiles frowned and peered out over the dashboard. They were pulling into a parking lot infested with a wide range of cars, which was a bit of a let down after all of the build up Derek had given him. At least, until Stiles noticed the that hid behind them.

An immense white building, one story, but tall enough the it would take a few people piling up if you wanted to swipe your fingers over the ceiling. A fat, blue, painted stripe ran around the top perimeter, and accented the colossal yellow letters that wore the building's brand with dominance.

"Tillamook Cheese?" Stiles questioned, staring at the front of the huge factory with amazed, yet confused eyes.

"Best peanut butter chocolate ice cream around." the man replied smugly, clicking out of his seat belt before hopping around to open the door for Stiles, who was still gazing at the oversized structure with awe.

"You didn't..."

"I did." Derek grinned, reaching over to unbuckle Stiles when he failed to pull his attention away from the factory.

He pulled the boy out of the car and towards the front of the building, pointing at the king-sized model boat that was proudly propped parallel to the dairy plant. People with touristy hats and cameras flocked through the doors cheerily. Happy faces from all ethnicities and origins, like a big family just meeting. It was blissfully ignorant to any pain and filled with promise. Stiles seemed to regain his child-like giddiness as he grabbed Derek's hand and began to take the lead, pulling the man around as they entered the foyer.

"What do you want to see first?" Derek smirked, watching as Stiles had started to hop lightly on the balls of his feet with anticipation.

"Can we get some ice cream? It's right from the source!" he begged.

Derek nodded his head towards the growing worm-like line that was formed behind the counter that stood openly at the front. Stiles took off like a bullet, dragging him along as they took their place in line.

* * *

**I was so excited for this scene, you have no idea. Derek drove Stiles out to Oregon to get to the ice cream factory! ^u^ I hope it was a cute enough surprise for everyone at home who was waiting eagerly in anticipation. Thoughts? Your opinion? I must know! :)**

**Sorry for the late update for this story. The chapter was well overdo. I may have already said it, but I was away on a class trip to learn about marine biology and had no internet access for a week. It was like a sick form of torture, but the class was well worth it and I'm so glad I went. **

**I'd love to know how you're enjoying this story, and thank you to everyone who had commented, favorited and followed so far. Your support is what gives me the drive to continue writing. Thank you. :) Reviews are love! I lub you all! **

**-LF**


	18. These Couple-y Things

**Welp, I'm home, school is almost out, and hopefully the summer will give me more time to try and fall back into a bit more of a writing routine. I love writing fanfiction, I really do, but life is like this huge roadblock an just always manages to get in the way somehow. This chapter is pretty overdo, and I'm so thankful that you lovelies have stuck with me and this story long enough to be reading this. **

**Your support really means the world to me. You have no idea. :) Reviews are love! Enjoy!**

**I don't own the characters on the show, obviously. I mean, if I did... it would probably not be suitable to air with all my canon. :3**

* * *

Stiles had been so consumed with devouring his precious CPB ice cream cone that Derek had thought he was completely over what had happened in the car earlier. In light of everything, he was taking it well. Maybe he was just so used to having his life get thrown around that he was less affected by it... It was a depressing thought, but it fit the scene. Stiles seemed relatively alright. Even before the kidnapping, Stiles had been tossed into several upside-down situations at a moments notice and piled it all on with little hesitation.

Derek had been scarcely licking at his own mint flavored ice cream while trying to connect all the dots. He'd been looking into supernatural forces that could give him any new leads to his investigation. Witches, mediums, even hunters were becoming a thought that he was becoming ready to try. He was getting desperate.

In order to help Stiles, he needed to know who was after him, or even, _what_ was after him. There was no doubt in his mind that it was a creature that had fixed their sights on Stiles. Why he'd been targeted or how they continued to tare at the boy's mind was another story. One that left him in a room of guesses with trial and error. It was frustrating. There was no real way that he could find out. There wasn't an idea on the table currently anyway...

"Derek!" Stiles repeated, pushing on the man's arm with a little force, "You're pulling a me."

He frowned, "I'm pulling a _you_?"

"Spacing out." Stiles clarified, crumpling the napkin he'd been served with his ice cream. "Everything alright?"

"I should be asking _you_ that." Derek grumbled, taking a tentative taste of his treat.

"I'm fine." Stiles replied, offering him a light smile.

Derek nodded lightly, but kept Stiles under a firm glance, "You space out often?"

"I guess..." Stiles replied, "I just find myself thinking a lot lately. I mean, I've been sort of wandering through my brain since the... well, you know."

"Hmm." Derek hummed, turning his attention back to his ice cream tentatively.

Stiles smiled brightly, and dropped his head onto Derek's shoulder, "This was a great surprise. Really. It made me feel a lot better, thank you Derek."

He waved his hand dismissively, "No need."

Stiles chuckled and bumped Derek lightly with his arm, "_Need. _This was amazing."

Derek smiled with a shine that was blinding, "Glad."

"So!" Stiles jumped up from his seat beside Derek, "What's next?"

Off the bench, Derek endured more pulling and dragging as Stiles stopped at each display they hadn't already seen. Evidently, Stiles was determined to take in every little attraction they had. Derek even found himself being pulled behind a large, dubious wood standee. The heads were cut out, and when Stiles pushed his phone at a passerby, demanding a photo, he realized all too late that they were standing behind cut outs of some rather cartoonish cows. Lovely.

They took in the rest of the factory until Stiles was tired out. It was late, and Derek decided it would be best to just check into a hotel for the night. He chose a fairly inexpensive one and flashed his I.D. to the clerk, paying the fee as the weary Stiles leaned on him.

"This really was a great day Derek..." Stiles mumbled as he was led into the elevator, still depending on Derek to remain upright.

"I told you, it's fine."

Eyes barely open, Stiles smiled contently, "Yur a good guy..."

Without bags, Stiles was content to simply flop onto the bed like a sack of potatoes. Derek pushed him over to the side and climbed in beside after kicking off his shoes. Stiles was laid out like a starfish, leaving Derek responsible for getting them situated. He slipped the blankets out from under him and pulled the boy close to his chest, throwing the covers over them once he had Stiles comfortably in his arms. The bed was soft and the blanket, bulky.

Stiles snored a bit obnoxiously, but Derek only rolled his eyes and shifted the boy's head. "Night." he mutters, not to anyone in particular.

It feels like they're a couple again. Like how it used to be, with the comfortable physical contact and being able to share a bed. It's a difficult torture to describe; being so close to Stiles and knowing that he doesn't remember all of the things they did together... and not _just_ the dirty things. They'd gone through many trials at each other's side. Stiles had made him a better person as a whole. It was a feeling hard to explain.

It was difficult and frustrating, with no way to vent. He refused to shed any tears over it, but he was often angry and wanting to lash out. Derek was remorseful. Was there anything he could have done to make it turn out differently? Could he have changed something? Could he have been better?

Of course, with the boot-kick out of Stiles life from Mr. Stillinski, it wasn't necessarily his fault that he didn't make contact sooner. Even if he had, Stiles had managed to have another relapse when they were together. That was even in the damn bedroom. He'd lost Stiles twice now, and the feelings that they should have shared, became shriveled down to a sick sort of one sided love.

Stiles loved him... somewhere in the back of his mind. It... it was just so hard. It was hard to stay quiet and hard to keep fighting. He wanted to be with Stiles, and lying in a dark hotel room, holding Stiles in his arms was reassurance. He'd have to take Stiles home in the morning, and this couple-y atmosphere would disappear. It was good to have these moments though, when Derek could collect his thoughts. With every new minute he spent with the amnesiac, Derek became even more determined to figure out everything and set all records straight. The only real issue was finding out what was happening.

Honestly, he didn't even know where to start.


	19. Why Not Happiness?

**I can start my excuses this time with relationship drama... You ever loved someone who loved you back, but you're not dating? It's a hell of a thing. Sex is passionate, feelings are real, but the technicalities are heartwrenching. It's just been a lot to try and deal with. Not to mention it's been 114 bloody degrees and the AC in my house is busted, so I've been trying to spend my days staying cool. And work. Yeah, that too.. **

**Anyway, STEREK! ^_^ AND PLOT!**

* * *

The high-pitched chirping of the birds was what woke Derek in the morning, but not what ultimately made him open his eyes. Stiles, who had been sleeping soundly next to him during the night, had, at some point, snuggled closely into his side. The lithe form of the boy tucked beside him was cradled in his own arm, and he briefly wondered if he'd woken up and pulled him closer intentionally, or if his body had done it subconsciously.

He smiled tiredly and tightened his grip a little, curling in further and savoring their closeness.

Stiles would probably wake up soon and either tense up or push him away all together. He most likely wouldn't go as far as to push Derek back, but he would be uncomfortable. Honestly, Derek didn't know where he stood these days. If Stiles liked him or not, and he couldn't rely on his _own_ feelings. He was far too involved with Stiles to make the call. Their polar opposite memories of one another left their relationship almost in something similar to one-sided love.

If only it could be that simple.

The boy in his arms started to rustle and Derek knew this comfortable cuddling would soon end. "Mmm... Morning Derrk.." Stiles groaned, stretching his arms out in front of his head like a cat.

"Morning."

Stiles left his eyes closed and smiled wearily, flopping back onto the mattress once he'd stretched and curled into Derek's chest. Temporarily shocked, Derek stared at him. He supposed it made sense for Stiles to still... in any case. They needed to get going before the Sheriff had his head. "Get up." Derek ordered, poking at the boy's arm as it was sprawled out over Derek's chest.

"Don' wanna..." Stiles groaned, pushing his head further into the pillows.

Derek tried again, "Time to get up, Stiles."

"Five more minutes..." came the grumbled reply.

"Now, Stiles."

A lazy hand pushed at Derek's face. Not enough to hurt, but just enough to irritate, "Shhhhhhh..." Stiles started, "Just a few more minutes."

"_Stiles,_" Derek pressed, "It's a whole day's drive to get back. We need to get going."

"If it takes so long, let's just stay another day..."

Derek smirked, "Alright. As long as you're cool with letting your dad know."

"I'm up, I'm up."

* * *

They were dressed and out the door pretty quick, and Stiles was still drowsy when they got situated in the seats of the car. He cuddled into his sweatshirt-pillow and shut his eyes with a weary smile, listening to the engine spark to life. He feel into a sedated happy-medium between awake and asleep, day-dreaming over what a peaceful night of sleep he had gotten.

The thought poked at him for a minute, and he came to the conclusion, "You know, when I sleep with you, I don't get nightmares."

Derek kept his eyes on the road, but listened intently, "Oh?"

"Yeah, I mean, I get them every night." his eyes opened a little, as he seemed to be concentrating, "Just not with you. You're like my good luck charm." Derek looked happy over on his side of the car, and thumbed at the steering wheel a little as Stiles continued to ramble, "You have super powers or something?"

"Or something."

Stiles tried to fluff up his makeshift pillow as he grinned, still a little drowsy, "Thanks again, you know, for this."

"It was just an ice cream factory." Derek offered.

"No, it made me really happy." Stiles retorted, turning his head to look Derek in the eye, proving his seriousness, "Really... really happy."

Derek reached a hand over to ruffle the tiny, shaggy bits of his hair, "Good."

"I mean it. Really rea-"

The car jerked suddenly to the left with a loud screech. Stiles screamed in surprise and punched Derek in the arm, "Derek what the hell!"

"Stiles, that wasn't me."

"What do you mean it wasn't you!?" Stiles shouted accusingly, "You're the one holding the wheel."

"I'm not controlling it." Derek responded, his voice calm as he lifted his hands off the steering wheel.

Stiles squealed and reached out instinctively to grab it, trying to make sure they didn't swerve off the road. However, when he tried to pull it, the wheel stayed on it's course, and didn't respond to Stiles' direction. "Wh-what?"

"I can't control it." Derek repeated.

"Well try!" Stiles tried to pull harder, then tried pushing, failing both times and the only real damage he managed to do was to his own hand. He cradled his sore palm and glared at the steering wheel, "What's going on?"

"I don't know." Derek replied, eyes never leaving the road.

With the car doors locked and the wheel jammed, the two could do nothing but sit silently and watch as the car drove itself off the main road, following un-painted pavement. They car just kept going, it drove along for hours and Stiles was starting to complain about food. The edgy pavement road flowed into a gravel path, then dirt, until the car was driving itself into a boggy field. It was thick as soup, and the boys couldn't tell where they were anymore.

Stiles found himself reaching over to hold Derek's hand as his nerves kicked in, and he started to sweat.

"It's okay." Derek tried to assure him, squeezing his hand. "I'm right here."

Stiles nodded hesitantly as the car started to slow and the fog began to shift and clear. It was still thick around them, but there was more seeable distance now. Farther out, Stiles could see a building approaching them. It loomed over the fog, and stood with creaky, wooden support. An old house, with a roof that was caving in and a brick chimney that had almost completely crumbled. Stiles held onto Derek's hand tighter as the car came to a stop and the locks clicked up, releasing them.

"Where are we?" Stiles questioned, too terrified to even think about trying to move.

"It doesn't matter. Don't get out of the car." He released Stiles' hand and started to flip the key, cursing when the engine refused to turn over. He slammed his fist against the wheel and cursed again. "Looks like we're stuck here."

"We could walk?" Stiles offered.

"Walk where?" Derek grumbled, "Lost track of the road nearly half an hour back."

"We could still try..."

"We're lost, you're hungry, and we've got squat." he ran a hand over his face and turned his face back to the boy in the passenger seat, "Our best chance is to go in."

Stiles shook his head, "I don't like this."

"Me neither." Derek agreed, reaching for Stiles' hand again, "It'll be alright."

So, with hesitance, the two left the car, staring at the creaky, old, black building.


	20. We Need Answers

**Well, it's finally here, long time coming, but it's here! We're about to get some answers. At the very least, some action. **

**-LF**

* * *

The old house creaked and moaned as they slowly approached. The paint was chipped and molded, with cobwebs drifting in the wind from the corners of the front porch. Sickly weeds conquered the foundation, and grew tall enough to wrap around the front support beams like snake vines. Abandoned and brooding, the house greeted the boys with malicious intent, but welcomed them in as the door let out a howl, swinging open slowly, as an invitation just for them.

Stiles was prompted to squeeze Derek's hand a little tighter as they came to the front steps of the sinister looking house. Stiles started to walk up the little steps in the front, but the first snapped and cracked under his foot, bringing him back onto the ground, Derek holding him upright.

They skipped the steps all together after that, climbing up onto the porch one at a time and re-gathering their wits before actually pushing on through the doorway.

The inside was no less eerie. With ripped curtains outlining the dirty windows, tattered wallpaper and molded walls, all decorated with flittering cobwebs. The draft was the worst part, blowing a humid, thick, and frankly, foul smelling air into their nostrils.

It was all the more horrible for Derek, thanks to his werewolf senses. He actually needed to cover his nose for a moment, pulling his shirt up so that it shielded him to just below his eyes.

The entire place was one big nightmare.

The door slammed shut behind them, and Stiles jumped. _What the hell were they doing there?_ Stiles was afraid. _How did someone get the car to drive itself?_ His breathing was getting shallow and fast as his eyes darted around the room. _Who was behind all of this?_ He started shaking. _Where were they even?_-

"Stiles." Derek interrupted, moving to hold the boy's shoulders, "Calm down. You're going to have an attack."

Stiles focused on Derek's breathing, trying to find a solid rhythm as Derek rubbed soothing circles into Stiles' arms with his thumbs. It took a few minutes, but Stiles finally managed to collect himself, sparing Derek a grateful smile.

A growl of warning oozed from the walls with obsidian promise, alerting the boys to the fact that they were not the only ones in the house. A haunting smell bursted across the room and invaded their noses. Derek nearly threw up while Stiles tried to keep him upright. The smell was familiar. He didn't know why, but it was. It wasn't a very good kind of familiar, for sure.

"Come on." Derek started, covering his mouth just before a gross burp. God he wanted to vomit. "We've gotta find out what's going on."

"Are you brain dead?" Stiles accused, "In what situation would that be a good idea? Have you _never_ seen a horror movie before? Should we split up while were at it? You go upstairs and I'll go down to the basement?"

"Actually-"

"No. Way." Stiles pulled on his arm demandingly, "We should just go back outside and try to fix the car."

"Stiles, the car is screwed. We're not going to be able to get it running again." he retorted, jerking his arm out of Stiles' grasp, "Even if we did, there's no guarantee that whatever power brought us here wouldn't just bring us right back."

"Going further is a _terrible_ idea, Derek!"

"Well, do you have a better one?!"

A loud, ominous cackle boomed through the room, "_This_ is what I wanted!"

Whoever had spoken sounded pleased with himself, and as the laughing continued it was clear they'd done something amusing. "Who's there?" Derek ordered, putting himself between Stiles and the center of the house. There wasn't exactly a location to put to the voice, but keeping Stiles by the door seemed like a good idea at the time.

Another cackle broke the air, accompanied by taunting words, "This is _much_ better."

What the hell was he on about? Derek kept himself planted firmly, "Who are you?"

"_Yessss_, be afraid. I can _smell_ it on you. The trembling fear _oozing_ from your pores."

Stiles was starting to shake a little bit. Derek turned his body so that he could hold him, try to keep him calm. The last thing they needed now was for Stiles to have an attack. The cackling came to a sudden halt when Derek started to run a soothing hand up and down Stiles' arm. Derek's brow furrowed as he started to work the pieces together. "Are you the son of a bitch who did this to Stiles?"

The boy in question looked up at Derek, confused.

"Have we met?" the voice replied, not really asking him, but at the same time confirming his suspicions.

"Not yet." Derek retorted, "Been waiting to. I owe you a punch to the face."

A lower than before chuckle echoed through the room as a black mist swirled into view. It solidified, forming a body before them. The man took a bow, and turned with a sickening smile to Stiles, who recognized him immediately. A bandaged face, with sharp teeth and radiating that fowl stench. He held tightly onto Derek's arm as his eyes went wide. All of those nightmares and tormenting daydreams were standing in front of him, smiling.

"Derek..."

"Has caused enough trouble." the kidnapper finished, whisking out of form once again.

He reappeared behind Stiles and chuckled into his ear. He yelped and Derek took a swing at the man, growling fiercely when he dissipated and re-animated on his other side. Derek 's anger got the better of him, and he started to change. His teeth bared and his nails grew out into claws, each enraged swing of the arm getting him no closer to actually hitting the creature. He followed forward, yelling out in rage when his target would break into nothing and reappear just a few more inches out of reach. If he'd slowed down for a minute he might have realized it before he drove his fist into a wall.

He heard Stiles cry out before he saw it. The creature had appeared right behind Stiles. He'd lured Derek to the other side of the room with an empty attack, and now held Stiles by the arm and neck, his hot, stained breath laughing right into the side of Stiles' face. Derek couldn't attack, so he cursed and put his arms down in surrender. He couldn't do a thing. Even when the monster grinned up to his ears and licked a long trail up the side of Stiles face.

The boy was breathing fast and shaking. "Derek-"

He couldn't do anything. Even as the _thing_ holding Stiles started to dissipate, taking Stiles with him. "Stiles!"

"Derek!"

He surged forward without thinking, just barely reaching them as they disappeared all together. "Stiles!"

That same, brooding laughter bellowed throughout the empty house, "Say hello to the _old sheriff_ for me. I hear you were the last one to see his boy before he went missing. I wonder if they'll put you in a cell with bars made of silver." With a last strong, boom of a laugh, the voice faded out of earshot.

"Stiles! Damn it!"


	21. Sheriff Stilinski

**Well the plot! OMFGGGG the plot! I'm pretty excited for this... I guess reveal. If you haven't already figured out what exact creepy crawly is tormenting poor Stiles, it's about to be pretty plainly spelled out. Kudos to those who did! I enjoyed reading the comments and people's theories. Speaking of which, drop one. Did you guess it? Did you have a different theory? I seriously think it's interesting to pick at everyone's brains. **

**And reviews are love. ^_^ -LF**

* * *

It was not supposed to be like this.

Stiles had been gone for nearly two hours. Derek searched the house, called out endlessly, and had even tried using his senses to track them, with no luck.

The _former _Sheriff had been less than happy to hear that his son had gone missing. _Again_. Even more so when he learned that the last known person to be seen with him was none other than Derek Hale, the man who'd allegedly 'found' him the first time, and then disappeared, only to reemerge when Stiles finally started to show some improvement. Things didn't look good for Derek, but that was the least of his concerns. He'd been the one to call Stilinski with the news. He didn't have immediate leads, and his father was probably already worried. Of course, he'd hung up on the sheriff the moment the man had started shouting about the _FBI_ and exactly how _many years_ he was planning to put Derek away for. Obviously calling the man, even out of good gesture, had been a mistake. Not that he didn't understand John's worry, but having the police on his tail was just another problem he did not need on top of it all. His top priority was to find Stiles.

Thinking that there might be no other way to save his reputation with Stiles' father, Derek resorted to desperate measures.

This is why the sheriff was hiding behind his own, overturned kitchen table, a half empty gun in hand while Derek gathered his breath on the other side of a shot-up couch. Of course it wasn't normal to just _accept it _when a man comes in, claiming that he's a werewolf and that the disappearance of your only son was not his fault _because of this. _He didn't exactly expect a warm, welcoming hug or anything. But bullets seemed unnecessary.

"John! I didn't hurt Stiles, I swear!" Derek called from behind him shelter.

"Sure! And this crap about being a- what? Werewolf?!"

Derek ducked down just as the sheriff fired another bullet at the couch, stuffing flying out in a puff. "It's true!"

"Bullshit!"

Another few shots were fired off before the gun started to give out empty clicks every time Stilinski tried to pull the trigger. He swore under his breath and forced the clip out of the handle. Derek stood up from his hiding spot, taking the opportunity, "I can prove it!"

"Oh yeah?" The sheriff yelled back, pulling another clip from his belt and peeking over the edge of the table to see Derek start to move closer.

He flipped back into his shelter, first assumptions being that Hale had some sort of close combat weapon. He obviously came to the house to kill John. Tie up any lose ends in his kidnapping of Stiles. Well, John saw right through his game!

There was rustling behind the table as Derek called the sheriff's name again. Hale was right behind his cover now. John snapped the clip into place and inhaled deeply. Then, in a swift movement, he hauled himself up onto a knee, arms straight out over the brim of the kitchen table, gun ready to fire, one eye shut, and-

Thump.

His gun bumped right into a large, heavily breathing, chest. At first, Stilinski didn't move. He stared up at red, luminescent eyes with a feeling of dread and horror, watching as the beast's pointed ears and muzzle twitched in unison. Claws gripped the brim of the table in close proximity to the sheriff's outstretched arms. He was so close in fact, John could feel hot breath huffing from the wolf's nose. All he could do was mumble as the beast before him waited in anticipation.

"H-H-Hale?"

"Stay calm."

"Oh my god! What are you?!" the sheriff cried, flinging back onto his ass with a loud thud of noise, dropping his weapon in the process. "Y-You really are a? A?"

"Werewolf."

"Good god..."

Derek calmed his nerves. The truth was out now. His claws retracted and the growl in his throat deflated. As he returned to normal, he watched as the sheriff kept a keen eye on him the entire time, eyes looming over his form as his fur practically disappeared. John seemed to slowly process the information, still eyeballing the gun on the floor beside him. Because that would be a smart decision in his situation. Try shooting up the werewolf with possible leads to your son. He definitely won't overpower you, and if you do kill him, your son's as good as dead. Solid plan.

He muttered a few more incoherent swears before shaking his head, "What in the name of all things holy..."

Derek frowned and offered a hand towards the sheriff, "A bit the opposite." he gestured towards his open palm with his head, "Can we go find Stiles now?"

The sheriff's eyes narrowed, "You do realize this only makes you look all the more guilty?"

Derek let out a frustrated huff, "If I kidnapped him why the hell would I come to you? Asking for help? Tell you I'm a werewolf?"

"Maybe you wanted to throw me off the sent." The sheriff gave a puffed laugh, "Pardon the pun."

"John." Derek grumbled, a bit more instant in reaching out his arm, "If we don't find Stiles soon I don't know what might happen. Are you going to help me or not?"

Finally giving in, Stilinski took his hand, being hauled up to his feet, "Say I did believe you weren't guilty, what would I do against another werewolf?"

"Stiles wasn't taken by another werewolf."

"Then-?"

"He was taken by a... strange other kind of creature."

The sheriff gaped, "You mean there are other kinds of freaks out there?"

Derek shrugged off the sheriff's unintentional insult and gave a short nod. He searched the room around them, "Do you have a computer?"

"A computer?" Stilinski huffed, watching as Derek made a beeline for the stairs, "My son is missing and you wanna surf the web?"

Derek groaned with frustration. Why had he enlisted this man again? Stiles room would have a laptop. He sniffed the air before finding Stiles' scent, the emitting smell concentrated behind one door. Stilinski seemed surprised when Derek walked right into Stiles room, a door placed oddly among the hall. It obviously hadn't been a guess. "Stiles used to always do this stuff..." Derek muttered, searching out the laptop and propping up the top, "evidently lore can be easily found online."

"Lore?" John repeated.

"To find out exactly what took him."

John huffed before taking a seat beside him, watching as Derek started throwing key words into the search bar. He examined Derek carefully as he started to browse, "Stiles used to do this?"

Derek's eyes softened a little, "Back in Beacon Hills he was involved with us. He would help us find out whatever it was we needed. He's pretty smart."

"You don't need to tell me." the sheriff smirked, "I swear, that boy teethed on a calculator."

A tired grin tugged at Derek's lips before he fell into silent concentration. John couldn't help thinking about it more. The absurdity of werewolves, other creatures, and most importantly, his son being involved with them. "Now..." he began, "When you say my son was involved..."

"He's not a werewolf." Derek blurted. Assuming where the sheriff's prodding was going.

With a frown, "Then how did he get involved?"

Derek clicked a few links and scanned through them quickly, looking for things that sounded like they creature they'd encountered. "Scott." he replied, with a short snap. "He _is_ a werewolf."

The sheriff nodded, but seemed really out of it, lost in his head which was quite obviously teeming with questions. The answers, however, would have to come later. Derek clicked a final link and tapped the screen, "Got it."

John frowned deeply, "That's the thing that took my son?"

"It's called a Nogitsune."


	22. Research

**Well I wanted to point out blatantly here... Yes, Stiles is being tormented by the Nogitsune. _However_, this story is very AU, and therefore the form of Nogitsune I'm using isn't necessarily going to be just like the one from the show. Sorry, but that's been done. That one fed off of the pain it caused people around Stiles, but I sort of pushed it out. I mean, I feel like it would be worse to be in Stiles position here. Maybe less harmful physically to the people around you, but isn't emotional torture worse? **

**Anyway, just needed to rant and explain my train of thought here. So yes, this is the Nogitsune, but it will not be exactly like the show. ;)**

**Special thank you to LordWilliam52.N.L.A. for helping me brainstorm how to wrap up this story. They were awesome ideas! :D **

**Now, on with the show! -LF**

* * *

"In Japanese folklore," Derek begins to read aloud, "There are 2 different classifications and thirteen different species of kitsune."

"You mean there's more of them?" John grunts from his seat beside Derek.

The wolf simply holds up a hand, demanding silence as he continues to read, "The kitsune are an aspect of the elements, meaning that they have ties to their abilities from each of these. The elements are broken down into thirteen categories and the kitsune are divided into each type..." he starts to list the different kitsune, each representing a different element aspect.

Fire, river, earth and music fall off of his tongue, accompanied by the Japanese name they are given. John bumps his shoulder, "How do we know this 'No-get-sune' one has my son? There's_ thirteen_ of these things. Can we narrow it down?"

"When we were in that house, this creature just... appeared and disappeared. It seemed to move around in a weird black smoke." Derek offered, scanning the page.

"Smoke? That's what we have to go on? Do you think we're looking for Smokey Bear? This thing has my son! And all you know is that it likes _smoke_." the sheriff huffed, "There's no 'smoke' on this list here, boy."

Derek growled warningly before pointing to the screen, "The _Nogitsune_," he retorted, properly pronouncing the name, "is a dark element. It's the only one here that fits. Listen to the attributes." He listed off the variations of mischief the creature was known for, latching onto a person or location and sucking the pain and misery out of it.

"A place?"

"Like a haunted house, or an abandoned building. It seems like it mostly preys on people though."

The sheriff shook his head, "Werewolves. I thought that was weird enough... what does that say? _'Field Foxes'_?" he narrowed his eyes, "What the hell is a 'Field Fox'?"

"That's a classification." Derek grumbled, suddenly growing frustrated that he had to explain all that was plainly written on the web page.

For a man who prided himself on good police work, he didn't seem to be very accustomed with online research. Of course, grasping the idea of foreign lore being real wasn't exactly an easy task either. For most people it wasn't anyway. Stiles had been a rather rare case. He was special. The more Derek thought about Stiles the more he missed him, and the higher his determination to find him arose. He was a man on a mission, out for revenge against this stupid fox that had decided to latch onto the boy he'd only just gotten back. Even with the dark power he had seen, Derek felt confident. After all, Wolf trumps fox like rock beats scissors.

John was still muttering to himself as he scrolled through the page, asking rhetorical or already answered questions. He just seemed fairly absent.

Derek zoned in on a paragraph of the article that John was scrolling past, slapping the man's hand away with satisfaction. "A Kitsune is weakened by the absence of their element. Like, a Kawa(river) would be foiled by drought, or Kasai(fire) destroyed by water."

Stilinski frowned, staring at the article, "So... we've got to shine a flashlight on it? I don't quite understand."

"Maybe not necessarily a flashlight. But... light in general."

"Alright, now you've lost me."

"Ever heard the expression 'the light of my life'?"

The sheriff lowered his eyes, "What are you getting at?"

"Stiles." He muttered, matter-of-factly, "He's the light of my life."

John gave a guttural groan, "You're playing with fire, Hale. "

"No, I'm playing with_ light_. Stiles is the best bet we have to go on. Metaphorically, he represents light like the Nogitsune represents darkness."

"That's all fine and well, accept my son is the one we're trying to _rescue_! We can't very well get to him. I don't understand your train of thought."

"You're right." he mumbled, "Maybe we should bring a flashlight just in case."

"You're not funny, Hale."

* * *

Stiles came to in a familiar room. It was cold, and dark. He could barely see the first few feet in front of him. He sat up from the floor, rubbing his palms up and down his arms in an attempt to regain some sort of warmth. He'd left his sweatshirt in Derek's car, suddenly wishing he had something to cover is nearly naked arms. Why did this place look familiar?

Stiles looked around to the best of his ability, catching shapes and shadows his brain seemed to recognize but couldn't pull the file and tell him _where_ he was exactly. He simple recognized it. A shiver ran through him as a burst of cold blast through the room. The sound of a door being unlocked startled him. "So you're awake." greeted a friendly voice. He knew it too. _Why_ was this all so familiar? "I missed you coming around the shop Stiles."

It hit him then. He was sitting in the walk-in-freezer of the ice cream parlor. The lights flicked on and his suspicions were confirmed when he was met with a head of curly red hair. Jane's pale figure seemed even more skeleton like than usual. "You didn't forget about little ol' me did ya?"

"J-Jane?" he questioned, teeth chattering in the cold. How long had he been lying in here? "W-W-What's H-Happening?"

"Oh come on Stiles." she urged, "Surely you're not _that_ stupid. Or are you just taken in by pretty girls in need?" She chuckled and stepped away from the doorframe, taking a few hops toward him before crouching, her face right up in his, "Oh, Stiles, my mom's a dead-beat drunk and I practically raise her kids! Please love me~"

Her voice sounded tormenting and gross. It made him shake with uncomfortableness. How long had this been going on? Who was Jane to be involved with all of this? "W-W-Why are y-you working with h-him?"

"Him who?" she questioned innocently.

"T-T-The man!"

She scoffed, standing up, "You're still not quite up to speed huh?" she smirked, "Let's leave it that way. No need to monologue when it's obviously more frustrating to stay in the dark."

Stiles watched horridly as she made her way back to the door, "Speaking of the dark..."

The lights flipped off, and Stiles was alone again.


	23. Cry, Human

**Well, it took ages to write a new chapter, but that seems to be the norm these days. I'll apologize anyhow. Life... it just really sucks guys. Thankfully writing can be a great emotional outlet, but some days I'm just too tired, or I'm out of ideas. Sorry to keep people waiting, if you even are waiting for an update. I like this story, I like your reviews, I love your support, and I hate my schedule. **

**There is a bit of a trigger warning here, cus it's pretty... well.. dark. But this entire story has been, so I think if you've made it this far, you'll be fine. There's also no beta for this story, so if you catch a mistake let me know! It's really helpful. **

**Anyway, here's an update for you! :) Yay! **

**-LF**

* * *

It was cold and dark. Really, really dark. And abominable snowman temperature. Like, _fingers could start falling off_ cold. An impeachable mixture of freezing, black, loneliness swirled around him like smoke, invading his nostrils and turning any exposed flesh pink. Teeth chattering as he idly rubbed up and down his arms, Stiles was seeking any sort of warmth. His eyes had only barely adjusted to _just_ how dark it was. There wasn't a trace of light anywhere, no chink peeking through the bottom of the freezer's door (which he'd tried with futile effort to open) and his fear got the best of him, keeping him glued where he sat.

Why was all of this happening to him? And Derek... He racked his brain, remembering the crumbling house, being whisked away, the way Derek had... _changed_ in front of him. Stiles could picture the sudden shift in his bone structure, watching the man's jaw become more pronounced, his K9s sharpening at the tip, and those eyes. Those blazing red, angry irises. Derek wasn't human. Everything about everyone was making Stiles want to hide himself. Was anyone who they said they were? Derek, Jane, the only two friends he had made in the past few years weren't even... They were lying to him.

Magic, beast-dudes, whatever it was. It wasn't normal. None of what was happening was normal, and he could grasp that now. The nightmares weren't his fault. Someone really had been stalking him. This _thing_ that Jane was helping,_ it_ wasn't normal.

Not that Stiles wasn't a guy willing to adapt, he could do that, he'd done it before-but this was madness. Kidnappers weren't supposed to have _magic_, you weren't supposed to have to live with being taken a second time, only after managing to make some sort of recovery from the first time. Whatever was happening, felt too big for him, like he had no chance against it. He felt so small. So alone. So pursued by everything.

Stiles curled further into himself, wrapping arms around his knees and ducking his head down, greedily lapping up what little warmth he could get from his own breath. It was so cold. Was someone going to come for him eventually? Was there any chance he was going to get away this time? Was he going to be left in a freezer? Was this where he was going to die? Stiles shuddered and desperately tried to rub some heat into his arms.

Was he content to play the damsel in distress right now?

A frown spread over his face. Was that what this was? Stiles scowled at himself, feeling like he was letting himself down by just sitting there, helplessly trying to create warmth. He'd been stuck in a rut for years over all this, depression, social anxiety, he'd been a complete mess. Then Derek had come back into his life, made him feel relaxed, like things could actually be okay. Derek made him feel like he wasn't alone. Which was stupid, because he was definitely the only one of them locked in a freezer. Stiles let out a little huff of laughter at that, wondering if Derek would have laughed too.

His thoughts drifted away from everything else for a moment, and focused on Derek. The anomaly that had obviously played a bigger part in his life than he'd realized. His memories were in shambles, but this guy had to be something remarkably special to him. There was no way he could become so relaxed with a stranger in such a short manner of time. There was no way someone insignificant would stay by his side, when it was obvious everything he did burdened Derek. The memory loss, the anxiety, the panic attacks... being kidnapped. This guy had to love him quite a bit.

He stumbled over that thought.

Derek loved him? The warmth he'd given up trying to chase suddenly sparked in his chest. He felt a pleasant tingle run through him, coaxing thoughts of the man's stubbled smile, how he held Stiles when he was having an attack... Stiles didn't realize he was smiling to himself until an unpleasantly familiar voice drifted through the darkness, "Stop that."

Stiles startled, jerking his head away from the direction the voice had come from, "S-stop what?"

"Being a nuisance." same the reply, from the other side of his head.

Stiles whipped himself around in a hurry. He hated this, the games this thing played with him. Damned was the damsel in distress routine. With a quick intake of air, Stiles tried his best to sound confident, "Why am I here?"

There was a pregnant beat of silence, making Stiles wonder briefly if his kidnapper had left, until there was a short, amused chuckle, "Because you are the budding fruit of my labor."

Stiles felt himself shiver, not certain if it had been the cold, or the bone chilling way he'd been labeled, like he was about to be eaten. "Why me?"

"You used to be undeniably strong." his tormenter replied casually.

Stiles chortled, "I think you have the wrong guy. I'm like... a hundred pounds of _zero_ percent muscle. I'm not really affective."

"Not in body." the atmosphere shifted suddenly, as the voice became cooling, almost admiring, "But in mind, in your character."

Stiles wanted to reprimand that, because all he wanted to do right then was curl into a little ball, but he remembered some things before moving from Beacon Hills. He remembered being able to talk a mile a minute and retorting with smart-ass wisecracks, but he doubted that was really enough to land him here. "You kidnapped me because of my dork-like charming skills?"

"No."

"Then I don't understand." Stiles quipped, "I haven't done anything outstanding enough to deserve this crap."

A sneer rustled under the darkness and trailed into Stiles' ear, "You have no idea."

"No, I don't. That's kind of the issue here."

"Where is this spirit coming from?"

Stiles hesitated at that. Yeah, he shouldn't be talking like that to this guy. The old Stiles would have but- Wait a minute. "Should I not be fighting back?" he questioned, keeping his face as stoic as he could manage, because even though he couldn't see the room's other occupant, he had no doubt he could see Stiles.

"You should be cowering."

There it was. "You took me so you could break me." It was supposed to be a question, because Stiles didn't know that for certain. But he could feel it. "You took me to break my character? I don't understand why..."

"Because you don't remember them." His captor finally barked, obviously becoming a little irritated, "You don't remember what you did for them. You've forgotten yourself Stiles." He listened to the voice creep slowly closer, growing just a little louder with every taunting syllable, "You're nothing now. Just a vessel of depression and fear. You're a bleeding doe, given up running from the hunter."

"I haven't given up!" Stiles shouted, hoping to stop the thing in it's tracks before it came any closer, "Derek will come for me! He always-" Stiles words drifted off into a shallow whisper, "He always..."

He remembered something. Derek, fighting a rogue werewolf that had cornered Stiles. Derek, rushing to his aid when one of the Argents had him pinned against a building, trying to interrogate him. Derek, kicking the ass of a guy who had slipped a roofie into his drink at one of Lydia's parties. He smiled fondly, "He always saves me."

There was a resounding scoff at his testament, "No one is coming for you." he growled, "Why would they? You're a pathetic, little burden."

"No. Derek, loves me." His smile widened just an inch, jerking up for a fraction of a second, but that seemed enough to upset his kidnapper.

Stiles was slammed violently against the wall, a has curling around his throat and pinning him in place. There was sickening grimy breath huffed against his cheek, that same foul, rotting scent attacking his nose as he was growled at, "He doesn't know where you are, Stiles." there was a hiss in his ear as that tarring mouth drew closer, "No one is going to save you."

His throat burned under the crushing grip, stinging every time he tried to take in a gasp. He'd pissed the guy off. He'd actually gone and done it. The small flicker of triumph he should be feeling was squashed underneath the acceptance of the man's words. They really didn't know where he was. Stiles wasn't going to give up though. Whatever this thing was, it seemed to want him to give up. He pulled in as much air as he could before grinning, "He... will."

A threatening scowl swam around him, a wordless warning. But, Stiles remembered being rather stupidly persistent in the past, and if this thing wanted him not to be as strong as he was, this was just how to keep that out of his reach. He smirked, and spat, "Bite me."

Teeth traced his teeth warningly, like he might actually bite him if Stiles didn't shut up, "I will break you." the voice insisted, "It's just a matter of how."

A sharp pinch pierced his cheek, making him jolt. The guy had actually gone and bit him. Well, he'd only used a tooth or two, but it still hurt. A small snicker wafted against him as the grip on his throat loosened just a bit, like the man was suddenly more confident in himself after making Stiles flinch. "I've already taken your mind. I've clouded your head." he spoke, "I could break you physically, but that wouldn't be enough."

Stiles suddenly felt a little nervous. Maybe he _had_ pushed a little too far. "I can do both in one motion, Stiles. Break your body, and your mind." he continued, and Stiles most certainly had taken it too far, "In the most intimate way. Derek could never love someone who took pleasure from someone else." Then Stiles found a cheek pressed flat against his, and came to the same dreadful conclusion is captor had.

Then he said it, flat out. But it wasn't those words that made Stiles suddenly fight to get loose harder than he had before. "I could rape you." wasn't what startled him so badly. As horrifying as the prospect was, it was what he said afterword, that really frightened him. He spoke like Stiles would _have_ to give in, like he had no choice but to do so. He didn't want it. He'd rather die. It wasn't the fact itself, but the real push he'd get. "I could rape you-

"and I could make you _love_ it."


	24. APOLOGIES ALL

**We regret to inform you that this user is closing her account. All stories previously incomplete will be posted as finished. Yes, it's upsetting. Should anyone wish to continue a story themselves, permission to do so is given. So long as the writer credits LovelyFangirls as the original writer, anyone can finish one of the incomplete stories. **

**Sorry all, just a lot of life all at once. Too much to really deal with, and it isn't fair to leave everybody hanging for updates that won't be coming. ****Thank you all for understanding, keep on reading! :) **

**-LF**


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